Chance Encounters
by Rosie White
Summary: Odd relationships are built in the strangest ways. When Donatello assists a young woman with car trouble one evening, it sets an interesting set of events into motion. Rated M for language and possible adult situations. In-Progress.
1. A Meeting

**Title:** Chance Encounters

**Summary:** Odd relationships are built in the strangest ways. When Donatello assists a young woman with car trouble one evening, it sets an interesting set of events into motion.

**Rating: **M for language and possible adult situations.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note:** This story actually started about five years ago, in an unfinished plot bunny that never seemed just right. It actually deals with a situation a year or two after the events of this story. I always kept trying to go back to the first story and I realized the reason I wasn't able to finish it or go further was because I hadn't written _this _story yet. Hence, here we are. In terms of the universe I'm in, I do a smattering of 2k3 toon (no Utrom Shredder, though) and the most recent TMNT movie (2007). Shredder is dead in this fic but some parts of the Foot are still in operation. I will admit to you, the reason I write is because I tend to be more interested in exploring the complex relationships our heroes get into, rather than the action I know other fics concentrate on. For this, I apologize but I sincerely hope you enjoy this story—I will try to squeeze in some action when it is warranted and can help advance the plot. After that, please enjoy and review if you are so inclined!

* * *

There was no way to sugarcoat this, truly. No way to truly describe the utter and total _hatred_ she was feeling.

Her _motherfucking, piece of shit, basket of asshats and fuck fruit car._

At least it's not what she said out loud, but rather screamed inside her head as she stared at the smoking engine to her vehicle. Her father had warned against owning a car in New York City—stupid he said, idiotic and expensive to pay for the upkeep of one when you had limitless public transportation at your finger tips in the Big Apple.

Rebecca Maitland had always been a stubborn one.

She glanced at her watch, straining her eyes on the dark street and while she couldn't make out the exact time, she knew it was late and she wanted nothing more than to be home with a cup of tea in her small studio apartment. However, her car seemed to be having other ideas.

The night had started off normal enough. Rebecca had finished up a late night of research at the library, declining offers from her cohort to come out for a few drinks on Thirsty Thursday. Her apartment was only a short distance away from NYU by car and she only made it about a quarter of the way until the car had began smoking and sounding like a wounded cheetah.

And of course it had to stop in the one location in the entire freaking city that had street lamps that were acting up. Every few moments the lights flickered on and off like it were some sort of B-horror movie. She also thought she'd seen some graffiti of what could possibly look like purple dragons on the walls scattered around the deserted street and the only thing she could conjure in her mind were the reports on the news about the recent high levels of gang activity.

At that precise moment, the street lamp Rebecca was parked under decided to flicker out, leaving her in a blanket of darkness and she was only able to make out the shadows of the buildings around her and the other twinkling lights of New York City in the distance. Again, she glanced around herself nervously noting that, yes; there was still no one out on the street this late hour.

_The city that never sleeps, my ass_, she thought to herself. _Why couldn't have Draco broken down in fucking Times Square? _

Rebecca growled softly under her breath and tried pulling and tugging on a few parts in the engine as if she actually understood what they did or how to fix the problem. Her hand moved to feel for her cell phone in her pocket only to realize it sat in the car, along with her keys still in the ignition. She pondered calling her friends only to remember most of them were already three sheets to the wind loaded and certainly not in the position to drive. She'd cancelled her AAA membership years ago as an unnecessary expense. The idea of calling a tow trunk only made dollar signs dance in her eyes. Her fellowship from NYU for her doctoral program was a nice package but it certainly didn't allow for much room for things like tow trucks and new cars, especially considering the cost of living in New York City.

As she was weighing the pros and cons of calling a cab (_The cost wouldn't be too bad but do I really feel like waiting for one?), _the air around her changed ever so slightly. It almost felt as though she was being watched. Rebecca wrinkled her nose and looked up from where she had been staring at the dark engine of her vehicle in silent contemplation to examine the semi-silent street. She half expected someone to step out from one of the alleys on the small back street but she didn't see anyone in the shadows on the street. Cars beeped and honked in the distance, with a siren or two—the usual sounds of the city but she could not make out the obvious sounds of a person on the street. Frowning, she looked up towards the rooftops and then shook her head at herself.

_No one there, Rebecca. You've been spending far too much time with __Frankenstein __and Edgar Allan Poe lately._

Her mouth and her fingers suddenly itched for a cigarette and she was tempted to pull out the pack of cigarettes she kept in her car for these types of emergencies. Sighing, she closed the hood of her car with a large thump. Screw it—she'd just have to walk home and deal with this in the morning. Sabrina could probably give her a ride to come and get the car tomorrow—Rebecca was thankful her schedule had worked out so she didn't have classes on Fridays.

_Thump._

The soft sound made her pause, slightly startled and surprised. It had sounded like it had just come from behind her. But there hadn't been anyone on the street a few minutes ago...her blood froze as more images from the evening news flooded her mind. Rapes and muggings—always common in New York, right? That's why the SVU show was so popular—it depicted the actual gritty reality of the city that people never remembered.

Her fingers danced over the mirror on the driver's side of her car—if she moved quickly, she could rip her keys out of the car and aim her pepper spray at her would-be assailant and maybe, maybe then she could run for it and make it back to the university—it really couldn't be that far—

"I can fix that for you."

A male voice broke through Rebecca's fear warped mind and she mindlessly began groping for her car door—she just had to grab the keys. A scream was beginning to work its way through her throat and the starting pitches were about to come out. Her hand slipped on the handle and she decided to just leave it—better to save her ass than to be grabbed from behind while trying to reach her only possible weapon.

Suddenly, before she could break into a run, a hand wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to something that was hard—almost like a chest and a hand clamped down her mouth, muffling the screams that emerged. She began struggling against the massive, wide form behind her, attempting moves she had learned in a self defense class she'd taken during her undergrad years. Each move did nothing to loosen the male's hold on her and she desperately began trying to bite the hand holding her mouth.

"Hey! Hold it! Come on—I'm not going to hurt you!" A voice sounded against her ear and she would have snorted had she not been so completely terrified. Of course he wasn't going to hurt her—he was just going to suffocate her to death with his giant hand and then probably rob her and, then—

Well, she didn't want to think about that.

"Please," the voice spoke again. The owner of it lifted her clear off the ground like she weighed less than a pound and shook her gently. "You have to calm down. This is well known Purple Dragon territory and they've been involved in a turf war lately with some of the smaller gangs. Do you really want to draw more attention to yourself?"

Rebecca's struggles slowed and she shook her head no, softly, which the male could feel from his hand on her face.

"Alright, good. Now, listen to me." The hand around her waist loosened a bit but he still kept a firm grip on her mouth. "I'm going to fix your car for you so you can be on your way home and out of here. Do you have a mini toolkit or anything in your car? And maybe a water bottle?"

She nodded slowly, still uncertain of the male's actions.

"Good. Few more rules. I'm going to let go of you in a moment and you can get what you need out of your car. First rule—no screaming. At all. Second rule—you can't look at me. Keep your back turned and hand me what you need."

Rebecca frowned inwardly for a minute. Was this some weird perv who got his kicks helping damsels in distress by having them not look at him? There had been weirder in the world, she supposed. _As long as he doesn't go back on his word, _she thought to herself. In spite of her doubt, she nodded again to indicate she'd follow his instructions.

"Excellent. I...I am sorry about having to do it this way but—well, if you could-," the male stopped and sighed trying to recollect his thoughts. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." He released his hold on her and stepped back, watching the young woman for a moment to see if she was going to keep her promise. After a long minute passed, with Rebecca breathing heavily and waiting for the possible wrench to crack in her in the skull, there was nothing and the male spoke again. "Good—you can listen. Grab the toolkit and the bottle of water from your car. I'm going to stand back. I'll step up behind you and take them—just hold them."

"O-okay," Rebecca said the words hesitatingly, still not entirely trusting the man. There was something so fundamentally _wrong _with this entire situation that she could not put her finger on it. Shakily, in spite of her nerves and the adrenaline still coursing through her, she went to her car and methodically pulled out the tool kit her father had insisted she keep and the half full bottle of water resting in the cup holder. For a brief second, she contemplated pulling her keys out of the ignition to grab her pepper spray and use it on her almost-savior but something told her he'd know if she reached for it and at this moment, she was really just looking to get out of here alive.

Carefully, she walked backwards, feeling the male's eyes on her the entire time and held the requested items out behind her, trembling slightly.

"Thank you," the voice said simply. She felt the items leave her hands swiftly. Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca could see the shadow move to the front of her car and prop open the hood with a familiar squeak. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the street, studying the possible shadow of a nasty graffiti message on a brick building. What did one say to a possible friendly stranger whose first action had been to scare the poop out of her?

She opened her mouth and then closed it and opened it again before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth.

"Do you do this often?" Her voice was oddly quiet—it was said almost in a whisper and she doubted he even heard her.

The scraping of metal and muttering stopped for a moment and he spoke back, surprising her. "Fixing things, yes. Rescuing women—not nearly as often as I'd like. Although, you didn't really need saving." He paused, thinking. "Yet."

Hmm. Her rescuer had a sense of humor—a pleasant surprise. Tonight was full of those surprises. She wondered for a fleeting second if the sky would rain money, because it would make a bit more sense to her than what was currently happening.

She spoke again, her breath hitching from an early fall chill that blew past her. "Are you a cop? Or were you in the army or something? You were...you seemed strong." _What an odd conversation to be having, _she thought. _I was never good at small talk. _

He chuckled lightly, continuing on with his tinkering. "Neither of the above. Consider me a...watcher."

"Gang member?" This was becoming a game, she realized. Trying to guess who he was without actually looking. Her eyes strained a bit to try to glimpse a better look at him but he was now completely hidden by the hood of her car, bent over in his ministrations.

"Heck no." He sounded mildly offended. "Far from it. Good—not evil."

"Ah," she said, biting her lip, pondering. A scattered memory bubbled up in her mind. There had been a few scattered news reports over her last year living in the city. Reports of vigilantes handling the ever increasing gangs and crime with more action and force than the police. The...Phantoms? Is that what they were called? Her mind struggled to remember.

"Vigilante?" The word floated out of her mouth and his long pause made her think she'd finally won.

"...You could say that." It was all he said and she heard the continued scrapings of metal.

"I haven't lived here very long—only a year," she blinked at herself, giving away completely unsafe and unnecessary information. "They say on the news—there's this group the police can't identify but some people really like them. The...Phantoms?"

Something clattered to the ground at that and was quickly picked back up to cover up the obvious slip.

"Your point?" He sounded annoyed now.

"...Are you one of them?"

The silence between them stretched longer than the previous pause. The air around them had changed, from cautious teasing to tense and stressed. She scolded herself in her head—always pushing too far and having to be nosy. The guy was already doing her a favor and this was how she repaid him by interrogating him.

"I'm almost done," his voice made her jump and it wasn't the same teasing tone it had been before. "You can sit in your car. I'll tell you when to start it." He paused again, tinkering. "No looking."

Rebecca nodded, despite the fact that he more than likely couldn't see her. She walked over and sat in the driver's side of her car, taking a quick peek in front of her only to see he was still blocked by the hood. Her gaze drifted over the passenger side and she concentrated her eyes on the dark stain from the coffee she'd had earlier that week.

"Done," he said and she could hear him move away from the hood of the car. "Couple of cables were disconnected and it was overheated. Should probably get something more reliable or get rid of the whole thing all together." A dig _and_ he sounded like her father. Just what she needed.

She growled softly under her voice and her hand felt its way to the ignition to start the car again. It roared to life after a minute or so, not sounding as much like a wounded cheetah but a dying squirrel. She'd take it.

Rebecca hadn't noticed if he had closed the hood. She was so concentrated on getting out of there and taking a long, deserving soak in her bathtub with a glass of cheap wine that she flicked her headlights on without a second thought. Out of habit, she glanced up to notice her hood was closed and...

A pair of dark brown eyes stared back at her, widening, bright and obvious from the light of the headlights. The eyes seemed to be covered by some...was that a _purple mask? _And was it...it had _green skin? _

Some...some_thing _stared back at her in utter shook. They both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the creature turned around and took off, climbing up a drain pipe effortlessly. From there it leaped onto a roof and Rebecca could see it no more.

She sat there for a moment, mouth gaping open in a silent scream as her mind replayed the image over and over again.

Her savior...rescuer, whatever—was a giant fucking _turtle?_


	2. Aftermath

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **Feeling VERY inspired these days, which is why you lovely folks are getting a second chapter in a week! I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you that reviewed the previous week—I'll be addressing you lovely folks at the end of this chapter. I also wanted to thank to talented and friendly peeps at Turtle Talk on Facebook—you guys are so great and I appreciate the encouragement. I was also a douche nugget in the previous chapter—I've seen mentions of the turtles as the 'Phantoms' in other fics, such as **Mikell** and **FairDrea**'sworks and I want to give credit where credit is due. Also, if you do decide to leave a review on this chapter, PLEASE feel free to also submit constructive criticism. This is the first appearance we have of our favorite turtles thus far and I want to make sure they're in character. Also, feel free to also submit your opinions on Rebecca—I'm working very hard to make sure she appears 'real' and any feedback on that would be lovely. Anyway, onwards to the story and as always, please review if you do feel so inclined!

* * *

_I can't tell anyone._

It was the only thought that kept repeating over and over again in Rebecca's head as she sprinted up the stairs to her third floor walk up. After the...the...creature (because she _refused _to call it a turtle) had run off, she'd sat in stunned silence for several minutes before finally coming to her senses and speeding off like some sort of deranged NASCAR driver.

Parking, like always, was an issue and she was happy to finally just be headed to her safe sanctuary. Her keys jingled as she struggled to open the door in a hurry and when finally inside, she slammed the door shut with a quick turn of her two dead bolts and chain. She flicked the light on and collapsed at the small cafe table in her dining area, breathing heavily. Within minutes, she was frantically rummaging through her bag for a lighter and her pack of Marlboro Lights. In a few well-practiced movements, she had the cigarette lit and the familiar hint of nicotine calmed her nerves instantly. She eyed the cigarette in her hand for a second, remembering that she should be really smoking on the fire escape as the landlord had been very specific on the _non_-smoking aspect of the lease but she couldn't really bring herself to care.

After all, shouldn't she be allowed to be a little irresponsible considering the strange experience she'd had?

The first ashes from the cigarette fell into her favorite ash tray and she studied the outline of the buildings across the street, almost as if she expected to see _it _again. She let the cigarette hang unattractively from her mouth and walked across the studio apartment to draw the drapes closed. It...it didn't feel like anyone was watching her but it was better to be safe than sorry.

_What the fuck WAS that? _Rebecca thought, walking over to her small sofa and turning the TV on for some type of distraction.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't...human. _But it...he...sounded human. _At least, it had seemed as though he—it—HE (it was male, after all or had sounded male at least) were male and knew the English language.

_Maybe I'm just crazy? _She let go of the cigarette, to exhale and promptly inhaled again, thinking. At no point recently had she hit her head and while the semester in just the first four weeks was showing signs of being hectic, she hadn't really started feeling the stress yet. For a brief second, she glanced at the cigarette in her hand wondering if seeing giant green creatures was yet a new side effect of nicotine that tobacco companies had prevented from being released.

_Urban legends though..._Rebecca pulled her laptop out and brought up Google in her browser. She had heard urban legends before about the sewers being filled with giant alligators...perhaps what she had seen this evening was a consequence of the New York City sewage and waste disposal system.

However, after a few minutes, search terms such as "large green creature NYC sewers" and "humanoid turtles" only brought up various blogs and homemade websites that discussed government conspiracies regarding aliens and secret experimentation—nothing legitimate. At this point, the alien explanation did seem to be the most logical.

A yawn escaped from her mouth and she rubbed her cigarette butt into the bottom of the ash tray. The lack of sleep certainly wasn't going to help her in determining precisely what she had seen this evening. Maybe the sleep would reveal it was all related to exhaustion...

Sighing, Rebecca swiftly changed into an oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts and settled into her small, full size bed next to the window. Her dirty blonde hair fell down her head in a thick, straight mass and she shook some of it out to prevent the inevitable tangles that would assuredly be there by morning. The light flicked off and within a few moments, she drifted off to sleep.

Surely, perhaps, she'd just imagined the entire thing.

* * *

Donatello watched the apartment window from high on a rooftop across the street until he saw the light go off through the drapes. Even though a good thirty minutes or so had passed since his encounter with the young woman, he still remained tense.

_Way to be creepy, Don..._he thought to himself, as he started the long climb down to the alley below. In his hands, he still clutched the toolkit from the woman's car.

_Leo's going to kill me._ And, more than likely, he probably would. The entire family had been on high alert over the last several months because of the increasing numbers and reports of the supposed 'Phantoms' that were heralded by some as champions of the city. Others, still, spit the word 'vigilante' at them like it were a dreaded curse. Of course, the added nuisance of smart phones was becoming a great cause of concern. One camera shot or video recording and the entire family's existence would be revealed to the world at large. Leonardo had started ordering the destruction of any piece of technology the brothers came across just in case it happened to be recording them.

Things were tense, to say the least.

Finally, Donatello reached the alley and quickly disappeared into the sewer below, the manhole echoing a large 'clunk' in the darkness. It took a few minutes to get his bearings but soon he was heading back towards the lair, trying to think of a logical explanation for why he was returning so late.

The evening had been a typical one. Patrolling had been done earlier than usual and a few minor altercations had been taken care of—robbery in progress, one or two muggings—nothing too terribly difficult. Leonardo had ordered everyone to head back to the lair since it seemed to be a slow night. The gang activity, while active over the last year, had started to slow down with the onslaught of fall. Criminal activity always seemed to increase in the summer months in New York City—possibly something to do with the heat or at least that was what Donatello remembered from an article...

After the family had started to settle in for the evening, Donatello had abruptly decided it might be a good time to take some of the books he'd casually 'borrowed' from the NYU library. He'd headed out, books in a backpack, with a quick goodbye to Leonardo and Michelangelo who were engaged in a heated game of 'Go Fish' with Raphael looking on amusedly.

Simple, easy trip, really. He should've been back in an hour.

Getting into the library unnoticed went off without a cinch like always and while browsing the stacks and replacing the books back in their proper locations, he'd seen her again, sitting at one of the tables, intently pouring over books. Others continued to file out as the evening wore on, but per her habit, she remained at the desk, until the irritated librarian had mentioned something about the late hour and that the library was, in fact, now closing. Donatello had chuckled to himself at that—it always was the same each time he'd seen her.

He didn't know her name but over the last few months had come to know her face and her work routine, which seemed to be comprised of late nights and intense concentration. The first few times, he hadn't paid her much mind but her leaving late and the ongoing turf wars among the gangs had made him concerned for her. He first just followed her to her car to make sure she got to it okay. That had gradually increased to following her drive for a few blocks, nothing more. The car sounded like it could give out at any moment and he wanted to make sure she wouldn't be left stranded on the street, in spite of her obvious ownership of a cell phone. Finally, one evening as the spring was fading into summer; he'd discovered he'd accidentally followed her the entire distance to her apartment, only leaving after she'd clicked the lights off for bed.

Donatello hadn't mentioned it to any of his brothers—the girl, whoever she was, was his own little secret. He never had any intentions of interacting with her and for a few months over the summer, he hadn't seen her and figured she was out enjoying what small bit of a vacation she had from her school work. Therefore, he'd been pleasantly surprised to see her at the library in her same spot, same routine as she had a few months ago. He'd glanced at his cell to check the time and shrugged to himself. His brothers could wait a few minutes longer—he wanted to make sure she got home safely.

He had hesitated before he had helped her—Donatello had been hoping she'd just use her phone to call a cab or a tow truck. After watching her slam the trunk shut, he'd determined she was going to be naive and walk home—through Purple Dragon territory. He hadn't meant to scare the shit out of her—he'd just wanted to fix her car and get her on her way to safety. The headlights coming on and her awkward attempts at conversation had been _nowhere _in the equation.

He'd especially not meant for her to actually _see _him. Donatello was worried and for good reason—sure he'd watched her for a few months but he didn't know any of her connections, he didn't know if she'd actually _tell _anyone about what she'd seen. Just because a person looked nice didn't mean they could actually be trusted, after all.

The thoughts continued to elude him as he punched in his code for the lair and tugged the third pipe from the left. Two brick walls pulled apart and he stepped into the lair. The lights were low and Michelangelo was in his typical spot on the touch, the TV on some sort of bizarre infomercial and a bowl of popcorn resting in his lap. Donatello rolled his eyes at his youngest brother and moved to shake him.

"Mike...Mikey, come on. Wake up," he whispered, shaking the turtle. Michelangelo shifted and opened his blue eyes to blink blearily at his brother.

"Five more minutes Leo..." and Michelangelo's head fell back against the couch, his eyelids drifting closed again. Donatello made a sound of irritation and shook him again.

"I'm not Leo, Mikey. It's Donny—you better get up before Leo catches you on the couch again—,". A sudden voice from the dark side of the room interrupted Donatello midsentence.

"I'm still awake, Donny." Leonardo stepped out from the kitchen, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowing on the purple masked turtle. The sounds of snoring came in the distance, indicating Raphael was already in bed early for once and in a weird set of circumstances, Leonardo was the one still awake.

_Of course, _Donatello thought. _As everything else has been completely off this evening..._

Leonardo continued, as Michelangelo drifted back to sleep, turning and spilling popcorn all over the couch and the floor. Leonardo didn't even flinch as Donatello hoped he would have.

"Care to explain why you're this late?" His older brother looked serious and his eyes were focused on Donatello.

"I...uh..." Donatello struggled for an excuse. He had never been good at lying. "I...helped someone having some trouble." He paused. "On my way home."

"Uh huh..." Leonardo nodded, his eyes flickering down to the toolkit in Donatello's hands. "I suppose this someone gave you that as an award."

Donatello couldn't help but wonder if this was what Raphael felt like every single time he came home late. He could now understand his brother's constant irritation on some level. But, then again it was just Leo being Leo and this was his way of showing concern, no matter how nagging it seemed.

"It's from her car—it was broken down, in Purple Dragon territory," Donatello explained, putting the tool kit down on the table. He groaned inwardly, realizing him he'd have to return it to her but he certainly wasn't going to be telling Leonardo that at this particular moment.

"_Her _car?" Leonardo emphasized the feminine pronoun and sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. His demeanor changed, looking at this brother worriedly. "Don, did she see you?"

The silence from Donatello served enough as an answer to Leonardo.

"Don...I can't—you let her see you?!"

"I couldn't help it, Leo! I made sure she kept her back to me and I fixed her car for her. Right when I finished she turned the car on and the headlights...she saw me. She saw it all."

"You left? Right after?" Leonardo sounded frazzled.

"You know, Leo, I'm not a complete idiot," Donatello glared at his brother, as they argued back in hushed whispers and Michelangelo snored softly on the couch. "I took off after she saw me. Maybe—maybe she'll think it was a dream? That she imagined it?" He was grasping at straws.

"How do you know she wasn't Foot or Purple Dragon? Purple Dragons are recruiting all sorts of people across the city these days—,".

"She's not a Purple Dragon, Leo. Trust me," Donatello cut in. "She's a student or something, I think. Hardly the type of join a gang. She was coming back from the library at NYU." He thought quickly to cover himself. "I saw the parking sticker on her car."

Leonardo sighed heavily again, shaking his head. "If you say so, Donny, I just—well. I...,".

"You worry, Leo." Despite the tense conversation, Donatello gave his older brother a crooked smile. "You only want the best for us. I'm pretty used to it after twenty-four years."

Leonardo managed to crack the smallest hint of a smile. "I'm glad one of you understands. Anyway," he gestured back towards Donatello's laboratory and bedroom, "you better get to bed. Practice early tomorrow morning. I'll see if I can get Mikey to move to his room."

Donatello nodded, somewhat relieved there hadn't been more of a confrontation. He walked around Leonardo to begin heading towards his room.

"And Donny?" Leonardo's voice was quiet and Donatello turned around again to face him.

"I know you said you don't think she's...well, that she might be okay but it never hurts to make sure. Can you watch her for a bit? Just to make sure?" His voice was asking but Donatello could hear a hint of a command in his voice. Leonardo had gotten more confident in recent years in his leadership abilities and was able to give an order without always demanding it directly as he had in the past.

Donatello nodded, thinking that this could allow him to return the tool kit to her.

"Of course, Leo." He met Leonardo's eyes. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

_Tip tap tip tap tip tap..._pause..._tap tap tap tap tap..._

Rebecca groaned and removed the cigarette that had been hanging from her mouth, smashing it into the ash tray next to her where four other cigarette butts sat, already cool. She continued to press the back button and glared at the screen of her laptop. The words made sense in her head but she was having a hard time articulating them onto paper—her paper proposal was due in another week and she wanted it perfected by the end of the weekend.

She sat outside on her fire escape in an NYU hoodie that was falling off one shoulder and a pair of bright blue sweat pants. Dusk had already fallen and unseen stars were shimmering in the early fall night sky. Normally, Rebecca preferred to do her work at the library but considering the events of yesterday, she thought it might be wiser to stay in for the evening this Friday night to get her work done. The passing hours of working on assignments and grading had started to wane on her and though the small size of her studio didn't often bother her, there were times it felt suffocating. She'd relocated to the fire escape several hours ago and the fresh air had been, at least for awhile, providing her with a nice change of scenery.

Her black, rectangular frames fell forward on her nose as she studied the screen intently. Annoyed, she pushed them back and tightened the bun of hair piled at the bottom of her neck. _Perhaps it's time for a break, _she thought, moving her neck back and forth only to feel it crack. Rebecca sat the laptop next to her and took the moment to stretch and readjust her placement on the fire escape. She removed the glasses from her face and allowed her eyes to readapt to the darkness of the street. The street was relatively quiet for a Friday evening but she could make out a few of her fellow pedestrians out and about, presumably headed out for an evening of clubbing and fun. Over the last several years, Rebecca had certainly had her fair share of partying but the life of a graduate student at NYU didn't allow for much of a social life outside of school. It didn't bother her, though—a small sacrifice for a degree she'd be proud of for life.

She drew her knees up to her chest, watching a group of scantily clad girls make their way down the street. At different points of the day, she had reflected on what had occurred the previous evening and she still wasn't sure of what she'd actually seen. Rebecca had even made an unnecessary trip (by bus) to NYU mid afternoon to try to find _something _mentioned in the papers but it had been a fruitless venture. Besides, she wasn't about to ask the librarian for help. In a desperate attempt for answers, she'd even attempted to casually mention strange occurrences and the idea of aliens or mutants roaming the city to her friends, only to be met with hysterical laughter.

As Deanna had told her, she knew how to tell a joke.

Rebecca had cracked a smile and managed a few laughs along with them—it was obvious she wasn't going to able to tell _anyone _about the mysterious masked creature without someone suggesting she be locked up in the loony bin.

After taking another stretch and placing her glasses back on her face, she picked up her laptop to start on her paper proposal again. Perhaps the entire situation was just one of those things that couldn't be explained—the answer didn't do anything to satisfy her but she knew from others and the world that there were things in life that couldn't be logically explained, no matter how much one tried. She was just going to have to let the matter rest.

A familiar pack of Marlboro Lights sat next to her and she shook one out, bringing it to her mouth and lighting it with the red lighter. The taste allowed her to recollect herself and focus on the task at hand. She closed her eyes to savor it for just a second.

"You know, smoking is bad for your health."

Rebecca's eyes flew open and the lit cigarette fell from her mouth to her lap.

_He _sat on the stairs of her fire escape, staring directly at her.

* * *

**Review Responses: **

Thank you to _winterdream7_ and _mela989898 _for your support.

_DuckiePray_: Thank you so much for your nice words on Rebecca! That means quite a lot coming from someone as talented as yourself. I'm working very hard to make sure continues to seem 'real' and I'm glad to have you along for the ride! I was hoping the normality wouldn't bore people and it seems as though some do like it and I thank you for that.

_tmntfangirl84_: Thank you! I'm glad to hear you like Rebecca—I'm hoping she continues to be entertaining to you.


	3. Tentative Friendship

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note**: Guys, I seriously don't know what's going on. I'm on a freaking roll—this story is coming together so easily I'm afraid that I might be moving things too fast. Anyway, thanks to all who reviewed last chapter. For this chapter, if you lovely folks could let me know if the pacing seems off, I'd appreciate it. We also see the beginnings of an odd area of tension for Donatello—see if you can pick it out. Also, I apologize for the slight Twilight bashing in this chapter. I don't actually mind the books too much but...well, let's just say Rebecca has quite a bit to say on them. Anyway, onwards to the story and as always, please review if you do feel so inclined!

* * *

For the first few moments all Rebecca could do was stare at him, completely and utterly perplexed and slightly scared of why he was there and how he able to find out where she lived. It was difficult to make out his appearance in the darkness—the annoying male seemed to have a penchant for cloaking himself in the shadows _just right. _

The cigarette that had fallen into her lap suddenly began to burn and she removed it with a quick screech and a curse to toss it onto the street below. The masked creature grabbed it quick as lightening and quickly threw it into the ashtray by her side.

_Hmm. Well, at least he seems to care about the environment, _she thought wryly, still unmoving. Several minutes passed before she was able to squeak out a question.

"Is—can I—is there something I can help you with?" She stuttered softly, frozen to the spot.

The creature cleared his throat and placed a familiar rectangular shaped box next to her on the fire escape. "I wanted to bring this back to you. Thought you might miss it."

Random...but okay. This guy had made a show of tracking her down to bring her back a $10 toolkit that any moron could walk into a Wal-Mart and buy? There had to be something more to this.

She glanced at the toolkit by her side and swallowed, her voice suddenly dry. Slowly, she removed her laptop from her lap, closing it. It was obvious she wasn't going to be getting any more work done on her paper proposal tonight—unexpected company and all.

Despite the fact that he had not done anything to her the previous night, Rebecca still felt distrustful of the male. He expected something, that much was clear, and she wasn't sure what it was he wanted. It was also grating to her how patiently he sat there, just watching her, not saying a word.

"I don't have a lot of money," she finally blurted out. Mutants who roamed the city probably wanted to rob people, right? To fuck with them because they had been shunned for so long? She felt like she was pulling this from an X-Men vs. Magneto storyline but in her scattered brain, the idea made some sort of sense. "You can have my laptop or...there's some cash, in my apartment, if you'd just let me go get it—,". She turned abruptly in the direction of her window to head back into her apartment. Maybe if she gave him some money, he'd leave her alone and she could finally get back to a reality where mutant green creatures didn't roam the city at night.

A hand circled around her wrist, tightly, preventing her from going in. She shuddered, tears pricking in her eyes. This was it, the end, wasn't it? She wondered how they'd find her, what they would tell her father, if she'd suffer—

"Do you honestly still think I want to hurt you? Or that I want your money? After last night?" His voice broke through her thoughts and she froze again. The tone of it sounded different this time, almost as if he was honestly hurt by what she had said. Rebecca shivered a bit at the sudden chill in the air and turned back around to face him, only to see he was inches away from her. She could make out more details of his face, illuminated by the glow of her apartment behind them. His eyes were the same shade of dark brown she'd seen last night and they were encased in a dark purple mask he had tied around his head. The pale color of his plastron caught the glare of the light behind them and she could see the shape of the shell on his back, with something protruding from it—almost like a piece of wood. He was, it seemed, actually green and darker, in complexion—almost like an olive green.

He caught her eye again and muttered a quick apology letting go of her, backing up a bit to give her more space. Suddenly, Rebecca felt ashamed of herself. At any point during the day he could have come by while she was alone and most of her neighborhood was at work if his ultimate goal had really been to assault her. Furthermore, he truly hadn't had to stop to help her last night—he could've ignored her like some bystanders would have.

It was her turn to clear her throat, as she found her voice again. "I—I'm sorry. You're right." The silence continued on. "You—well." Talking was proving to be increasingly difficult. "It's just...not often that I meet a talking..." She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

"Turtle," he finished for her, readjusting the pads he wore on his elbow. "Talking turtle. Mutated, to be precise."

"Were you human?" Rebecca spoke, instantly curious about his background. He seemed strong and aware of human customs. Could it be possible he was someone who had just fallen into odd circumstances that left him as he was? Her mind conjured up the results from her hurried Google search the previous night. _Government conspiracy or cover up? _

"No," he said flatly, meeting her eyes again. "Turtle, from the beginning." He stopped, eager not to give away more than he should and possibly endanger his family. "My turn to ask questions now." He flashed her a small smile as a peace offering and she couldn't help but give him a small one in return. Perhaps he wasn't as abnormal as she thought he was.

"What's your name?" He asked it casually and she was a bit surprised—she thought his questions to her might have been more complex.

"Rebecca," she spoke after a moment. "Rebecca Maitland."

"Nice to meet you, Rebecca," he stuck out his three fingered hand to her, indicating the start of a handshake. "I'm Donatello Hamato."

It took all of Rebecca's will power not to laugh as she shook his hand, somewhat amused at his name. Of all the names she imagined belonging to a mutated turtle living in New York City, Donatello wasn't among them.

Upon releasing his hand, a memory came to her, back from a history class she'd taken during undergrad. Art history, and the class had been discussing the artists from the Renaissance. She looked at him confusingly.

"Like the Italian sculptor?" She asked him, tilting her head, curious.

"Like the Italian sculptor," he repeated back to her, nodding. "But, you can call me Don or Donny for short—the only person who ever uses my full name is my father." He said the last bit chuckling softly to himself.

"You have a family?" Rebecca clearly sounded shocked. She'd honestly expected him to be alone.

He hesitated a moment before answering. "I do." And again he stopped, not giving away more than he had to. "You're a student at NYU, right?" Donatello carefully changed the topic of conversation and steered it back towards her. It was the only way, of course, he'd be able to determine if she were to be trusted.

Not that Leonardo would probably agree with his methods at the moment anyway.

"Graduate student," she stated matter-of-factly. "I'm in the doctoral program for English literature—nineteenth century British literature to be exact."

His eyeridges shot up at that. She was young to be in a doctoral program—most people didn't enter programs like that until much later in their twenties. Rebecca was evidently very ambitious and bright.

She sensed his surprise. "I'm twenty-three," she added. "I started right after I finished undergrad—I didn't want to waste anymore time." She smiled at him again—though the entire situation was completely and utterly odd on every level, the normalcy of the conversation was comforting in a strange way. Though, she frowned looking at him when she remembered something.

"How did you know where I lived?" She asked hesitantly, somewhat afraid of his answer.

"...I followed you home last night," he answered, aware of how creepy and stalkerish that sounded. "I wanted to make sure you'd be safe." He added the last bit quickly, trying to make it seem more innocent and altruistic, even though it certainly wasn't.

"Ah," she stated simply. Rebecca looked at him, slightly annoyed. "Just so you know, in case you weren't aware, the whole "Edward Cullen-follow-girl-and-watch-her-sleep" deal is actually not sexy or romantic. It's just creepy."

Donatello looked perplexed. "I'm sorry—who's Edward Cullen?" He also coughed. "And for the record, I didn't watch you sleep—because THAT would've been creepy."

For the first time all day, Rebecca let out a genuine laugh at the turtle, smiling. "Let's just say you should avoid any references to any books or movies entitled 'Twilight.'"

"But now you've peaked my curiosity," he shot back, returning her smile and laughing a bit. "Now I must know more about this mysterious Edward Cullen."

"No, no," she shook her head. "You have to start at the beginning, with the first true actual dashing romantic hero—Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of _Pride and Prejudice_. I'll gladly lend you one of my five battered copies." She grinned at him as a sudden gush of wind came back, causing her to shiver from the cold. Even though Donatello didn't flinch, he certainly didn't look comfortable being...naked and all.

_Is naked even the right word? _She thought, puzzled. Shaking her head to get rid of the inane thought, she gestured to her apartment. "Would...would you like to come in, maybe? Get out of this chill? I think fall is coming earlier to New York City than normal."

Donatello paused for a moment before answering her. He hadn't been sure exactly of what would happen when he stopped by to give her back the tool kit. He'd told Leo he was going back to conduct 'surveillance'—a half lie as much as a half truth. Besides, he'd already gathered her name and her age—it was enough to get a basic start on a quick background check. Seeing her apartment would only allow him to be more precise and possibly get some more information.

Not to mention, it had been some time since he'd been inside someone's apartment. Not since...well, not since April—

His mind stopped the thought before he could let it continue and he mustered up a shake of his head at her invitation.

"I'd love to come in," he said. She nodded and started to get up from the fire escape and Donatello moved backwards to give her more room. As she went to grab her laptop sitting on the cold steel, he moved quicker than her, snatching it up. "Got it." He made a motion for her to continue on.

"Thank you." She sounded surprised. The gesture had been unexpected but she appreciated it on some weird level. _Nice to know chivalry is not dead. _She clicked open the window to her apartment again and gingerly stepped through, careful to watch her footing.

Unbeknownst to her, Donatello used his foot to kick her forgotten pack of Marlboro Lights off the fire escape, the pack falling to the street below. Within minutes, he determined, some teeny boppers would find them, overjoyed at the possibility of free smokes.

He followed her into the apartment, grateful for the sudden warmth from the increasingly chilly night and sat her computer down on a cluttered coffee table. Her space was small but cozy. Next to him after he stepped in was her bed, hurriedly made with simple, clean white and blue bed covers. A large combination of an entertainment center/desk/closet was on his left, books lining every shelf and clothes hidden by the double sliding doors. The kitchen was towards the front of the apartment, some dirty dishes in the sink and a few hanging out on the drying rack still waiting to be put away. A door was next to the kitchen. Donatello couldn't see into the room but logic drove him to determine that was the bathroom. The corn blue couch was small but comfy—even with the odd pattern over it. All in all, it was a small space but from what he knew about her thus far, it seemed to fit her well.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she said sheepishly. "I hadn't been expecting company." She blushed slightly, moving some papers and notebooks off the cafe table that served as her makeshift dining room table.

Something told Donatello that if she'd been expecting company, the place wouldn't have looked much different. It was the true definition of a 'starving graduate student.'

"It's nice," he said, glancing around. He stepped close to one of her bookshelves, examining it.

"Would you like something to eat? Or drink?" She stood in the kitchen and opened up her refrigerator, peering in. "I have some leftover Chinese food from the other night. Tuna fish?" Rebecca looked up from the fridge to look at him, realization dawning on her face. "Oh, wait...do you eat...well, do you...". _What the fuck do turtles even eat? _

"I have lettuce," she finished lamely, closing the door. He turned from examining her books to chuckle, shaking his head, laughing.

"I eat normal, run of the mill human food. Pizza is a favorite of my family's." He smirked, watching her face redden again at her mishap. "Water, though, would be nice." He'd purposefully given her something to think about, other than embarrassing herself.

"Water...yes, I can do that." Rebecca went rooting through her cabinets for a clean glass. "Ice?"

"No ice is fine, thanks." His eyes fell onto the couch where her iPhone sat, encased inside a light blue cover. Quickly glancing towards the kitchen to see that she was sufficiently occupied, he swiftly picked the iPhone up, shoving something inside the connection area. In a split second, the phone was back on the couch, as if it had never been touched.

Donatello didn't like doing it but it was a necessary precaution. Leonardo had suggested it as something to track her movements and to make sure she didn't suddenly decide to go to the police or the feds.

_Or the press, _he thought to himself, knowing that was Leo's biggest fear than both the police and the feds combined. Police and federal agents could be avoided—photographs and eyewitness accounts could not.

"Here you are," Rebecca stepped up to him, holding out a red tumbler glass. "One order of water on the house."

"Thank you," he said, taking a quick sip. "Nice and cold."

She laughed at him. "Well, while I can't afford much, I certainly have cold water in abundance." Something caught her eye and she was studied the item on the back of his shell with great interest. Without thinking, she brought her hand up and was about to touch the long, round piece of wood strapped to it, curious as to what it was.

In a flash, he grabbed her wrist again, not flinching. Her eyes sparked with a bit of fear then and she moved her gaze to look at him worriedly. He coughed, letting go of her hand once more.

"Sorry," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. "Reflexes." There was more to it than that, of course, in the fact that Master Splinter had taught all of the brothers to have the utmost respect and care for their weapons. His bo staff was like another limb—it didn't feel right to have someone else touch it without his permission.

"It's alright." She shifted back, bringing her eyes to the object again, but kept her distance this time. "I shouldn't have—just curious. If you don't mind, answering though—what is it?"

"Bo staff. Used primarily in ninjutsu." A textbook answer to a textbook question.

Her eyes widened and she looked into his eyes, confused again. "I'm sorry—do you mean _ninjas _used them?"

"Use," he corrected her, using the present tense. Donatello finished the water and set the glass on the coffee table, watching her.

Rebecca was flabbergasted to say the least. "Do you mean to tell me, Don, that _you're _a ninja?" Her used his name for the first time and while it was a natural reaction, it still felt odd on her lips—like his having a name and using it made this entire situation and series of events finally and concretely _real. _

The ninja part, though? She wasn't sure she bought that yet.

"Yes," he nodded, as it if were obvious. "I was trained to be a ninja."

His quick reflexes and reactions suddenly made sense. Also, his strength when lifting her up the previous night in an attempt to calm her was explained. She still thought the entire idea was ludicrous but considering the events of the last twenty-four hours in which she'd discovered that at least one family of mutants roamed the city, this explanation wasn't too farfetched.

"It's getting late," he stated abruptly, glancing to the blinking time on her TV indicating it was only about quarter to midnight. "My family's going to be wondering where I am."

"Oh," Rebecca said, slightly disappointed. Some part of her had been hoping he'd stay for a bit longer. It was stupid and perhaps a bit immature but it was nice having someone different to talk to, with different life experiences. Not that her life was boring or mundane but the added company had been nice.

"Would you come back?" She asked, playing with her hands nervously. "To visit?" Without warning, she moved to a corner of the room coming back with a battered paperback novel in her hands. "We...we could talk about this book, if you wanted?" Rebecca was grasping at straws but she wanted something to hold him to, to make it possible for him to return.

Donatello took the book from her hands, glancing at the cover as a small smile came over his face. The book was _Pride and Prejudice. _

"I'd like that," he said simply. And he meant it.

"Great!" Her face brightened. "I'm around most evenings—except if I go out with friends or something but with the semester picking up, I won't be out as much."

"I'll know." Donatello enjoyed the look that came across her face as he made a joke about the stalker comments earlier. "I'll keep an eye out for your light if I happen to be in the area." And he would be in the area. Often.

Surveillance was important, after all.

"Three knocks and it's me," he told her. It was a familiar system that hadn't been used in quite some time. On some level, he reveled almost in getting to use it again.

"Okay," she said, smiling. "It—it was nice meeting you, Don." She preferred his nickname over his whole name. Suited him better, in her opinion.

"Same here, Rebecca." He paused, thinking. "Becca?" He said it almost like he was asking for her approval.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I hate nicknames. No one's called me that since I was seven."

"Fine. Becca it shall remain." Donatello smirked at her again, holding the book and opening her window to slip out onto the fire escape. "I'll be around." He stepped out before she could get another word out. By the time she made it over to the window, it seemed like he had almost faded away into nothing, no trace left behind.

She closed the window and began preparations for an early bed time, smiling to herself.

It was the beginning of a tentative friendship.

* * *

**Review Responses**

_tmntfangirl84_: Aww! Thanks again for review. To be honest, my ultimate goal in writing this fic is to show it's possible to write a female OC in TMNT fics without resorting to the cliche damsel in distress story (not that I enjoy a good one now and again). I want Rebecca to deal with the budding relationship in the most realistic way possible. Very glad to have you along for the ride.

_DuckiePray_: Your reviews continue to make me blush! I'm glad the backstory worked out—he really at first had no intentions of interacting or speaking with her...but you know what they say: " when you give a mouse a cookie..." LOL. I think you hit the nail on the head with your comment on the "shy/stalker" explanation. He is being slightly creepy, even if he doesn't realize it. Also, I am SO happy to hear you liked my Leo! He and Raph are BY FAR the most difficult for me to write and I know it's very easy to fall back on their old personality stereotypes—I'm trying to avoid that as much as possible. I also hope Rebecca continues to be 'normal' for you. :D

_mela989898_: Thanks for the review! I've been bitten by a writing bug, so I'm hoping the updates keep coming quickly. I'm also glad you liked Leo/Don's interaction—I didn't want to fall into stereotypes and I don't think Leo's always this uptight asshole and I don't Donatello is necessarily meek. It's good to know I avoided that!


	4. Too Far?

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Poem mentioned belongs to the wonderful Christina Rosetti. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **I'm very nervous about this chapter. I finally reveal a few things that help explain Donatello's somewhat off behavior. I'm curious how many of you will still stick with this story after reading this chapter. Because of that, I've included an author's note at the end of this chapter to explain myself. I put it at the end just to avoid any spoilers. Also, thank you for all your lovely reviews—I very much appreciate them and they continue to inspire me! Onwards to the story!

* * *

Saturday morning was light and bright in the Hamato household. Over the last few years, Leonardo had been persuaded (mostly by Michelangelo) that Saturdays should be a day of rest at home. Early morning practice six days a week along with annual nightly patrols (sometimes twice a night if the crime activity was high enough) could easily take its toll on the family. Therefore, on Saturdays everyone could sleep later than usual (ten o'clock was the unspoken deadline), have a leisurely breakfast and just relax in general over the course of the day.

Donatello sat in front of his computer, typing away quickly on the customized keyboard that was better adapted to his larger hands and fingers. A larger monitor sat next to him, seemingly searching through some kind of records. Hacking into NYU's database had been cake, tracking down Rebecca's records even easier. He'd briefly considered sending them a notification or an alert that he was in the system, just so the administration and IT could look into beefing up their security.

So far, her records had not revealed much of interest. She was from a suburban town in the Philadelphia area and had gone to a small liberal arts college in Massachusetts, double majoring in English and history. Her transcripts showed she was competent in her chosen profession, generally doing very well in her English classes. The science and math classes were another story, though. He was somewhat saddened to see that while she did well enough to pass those classes, she obviously did not have the same passion for those subjects as she did the humanities. In the end, though, her GPA was still good and it was no surprise to Donatello she'd managed to get into NYU on what he was assuming was a full-time fellowship.

The financial records were proving to be a bit trickier and it was taking some time for him to tap into her FAFSA. From there, Donatello was going to try to trace her bank account information to determine if it looked like she'd been taking bribes recently. Money was often tight for graduate students and despite her innocent exterior, she could have slipped into the bribery of the Purple Dragons or the Foot and hell, even Bishop if the money had been tempting enough.

Deep down, it bothered Donatello that he was doing such extensive research into her background. He _wanted _to trust her, to build some sort of friendship with her. His life had been lacking that since April. He refused, though, to put his family into any unnecessary danger if he could avoid it. The Hamato family had been through too much in the past two years and he wasn't about to add any more stress to that.

He refused.

In a flurry of typing, a hard knock sounded on the doorway and Donatello glanced up to see Raphael holding up his laptop, looking frustrated.

"Hey Donny," he said, clearing his throat. "Was wondering if you could take a look at this again for me. Stupid thing won't load the fuckin' internet..."

Donatello frowned and motioned for his brother to come forward. "What happened this time?" He stood up from his chair to allow Raphael some room in setting his laptop on the desk.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?!" The red masked turtle glared at him, crossing his arms. "I just double click on the icon and some shit comes up saying somethin' about some sorta virus software crap. Doesn't look like the name of whatever the hell it is we use..."

Donatello sighed heavily and clicked around a bit on the laptop, diagnosing the problem in seconds. "Great, Raph. Just great. Looks like you somehow got a Trojan downloaded on this thing when I just removed one for you last week!" He gave Raphael a 'look.' "How in the world do you manage to do same thing _again_?!"

"I don't fuckin' know!" Raphael glared at him, irritated. "I was just clickin' around—it's not like I go downloading porn all the time."

_Of course you don't, Raph—just once or twice a day, _Donatello thought to himself, clicking around on the screen again. After a few minutes, he had the laptop set up to run a thorough scan and if that didn't work, he'd be forced to go through the whole thing by hand, but at least it seemed fixable.

He stepped away from the desk as the machine buzzed and whirred. "Just avoid clicking on any kinds of ads—you might have to finally adapt to using Firefox over Internet Explorer..." The sentence faded away as Donatello realized Raphael was looking at the larger monitor confused as it came with up with the search results for Rebecca's financial information.

Raphael scrutinized the screen and turned to look at his brother, bewildered. "Donny, who the hell is 'Rebecca Maitland'? And why are we so interested in her..." he read the words aloud, " 'Free Application for Student Aid?'" He shook his head, stepping back from the screen. "Sounds like a loan or some shit."

Immediately, Donatello clicked the 'off' button on the monitor, causing the screen to go black. "Nothing," he stated hastily, turning off the monitor on the smaller desk computer he'd been working on moments before. "Just something Leo wanted me to look into."

Raphael glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. "That's the chick you helped the other night, ain't it? Fearless told me about it—don't think he meant going to stalker-like behavior, Donny."

Donatello rolled his eyes at his brother. "I'm not stalking her—we just need access to her financial records to double check if she's taken any bribes or not. I'm _not _taking any chances."

His brother snorted, leaning against the wall. " 'Course, Donny. Just keep telling yourself that. She cute?"

Donatello blinked at him and thought back to Rebecca's appearance—she certainly wasn't unattractive but she was a bit curvier than the current day's standards of beauty. To be honest, she just looked comfortable to Donatello. Fashion did not seem to be one of her greater concerns.

Though, the glasses perched on the tip of her nose had been kind of cute.

He thought his answer over carefully before finally speaking. "She's not terrible to look at, if that's what you're asking. Simple would probably be the best way to describe her."

Raphael stared at him, incredulous. "You describe a young woman as 'simple?' That's a nice, gentle way of saying she's ugly." He stated it very plainly—Raphael was never one to sugarcoat the truth.

"She's not ugly, Raph! Ugh! I swear..." Donatello pondered for a moment, struggling for a way to describe her. "She's just...her. I can't think of a way to describe it anymore than that. Besides, I can't say I was busy checking her out when I was _fixing her car._" He said the last part with emphasis, to drive the point home that he had been accomplishing a task during their first awkward and slightly doomed meeting.

"Psht. Whatever you say Donny..." Raphael began walking but turned back, his voice going oddly serious. "Oh, Leo wanted me to tell you—Casey's stopping by later tonight..." He trailed off, waiting to see his brother's reaction.

Donatello's mouth tweaked a bit and he suddenly found a spot on the wall fascinating. He was quiet when he responded again. "Oh? What's the reason?"

"We gotta nail down plans for when we...for when we go up to the farmhouse again. He wants us to pick a weekend, so we can, uh...you know..."

"I know, Raph." Donatello's voice was steel and he picked up a stress ball that had been sitting on his desk, rolling it through his hands. "So we can pay our respects. Again."

"Yeah..." Raphael coughed and gestured towards the door. "Anyway, I gotta go. Mike stuck me with fucking vacuum duty again..." With that, he trailed out of the door, leaving Donatello to his own devices.

The room had gone suddenly cold and Donatello wandered out of his lab to head to his bedroom next door, closing the door. Michelangelo would be tracking him down within the hour to take care of his chore for the day, which was to clean the dishes gathering in the sink but for a few moments, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Reaching into his belt, which hung on the headboard of his bed, Donatello pulled out a picture that was slightly faded and creased. He laid back on the bed, holding the picture in front of his face and April O'Neil stared up at him, a small smile dancing on her features. Her red hair was thrown up in its typical bun, a few tendrils framing her face tenderly as she shot the middle finger jokingly at the photographer who happened to be Mikey. The picture had been taken at a random moment in time and was one of several candid shoots Mikey had taken over the years.

This was how Donatello liked to remember her...before.

* * *

It had been two years ago, right around the beginning of November. Crime had been on the downturn and Donatello and his brothers had been enjoying the much needed time off. Leonardo had been home for about a year and the family had finally moved past the time of readjustment and were working together as a successful unit. The nights were colder and because of such, they were spending far more time in the sewers where it was warm.

April's business had picked up surprisingly well and was advancing to a point where she'd be able to hire other employees other than herself and Casey. The two had gotten engaged earlier in the summer and were in the midst of planning a May wedding for the next year—small scale as April didn't have any family left and Casey preferred his didn't attend. It'd been a few days since the Hamatos had seen their friends but April had been busy fulfilling orders and getting together items to ship in time for the early Christmas shopping season. She'd called their home that morning to inquire about the state of their refrigerator and cabinets and resolved to get them some groceries to tide them over for the next few weeks.

Donatello had been one the last one to talk to her, hearing her laugh over the phone. He'd been tinkering with an alarm system update and had only half paid attention to the phone call. April had made it a point to tell him she knew he was distracted and to joke it wasn't her fault if she didn't get the correct items off the shopping list.

He wished now he had paid attention, told her the grocery trip wasn't necessary. He wished he'd listened to every word she'd said to him, because it was all he'd have left of her.

The night had been getting later and Leonardo was worried about her. Michelangelo had tried to laugh it off, saying April had been busy lately and was just later than usual. Raphael worried that Foot had decided to go after her again for some unknown reason. Donatello thought she might have gotten lost in the sewers, not paying attention to the latest tunnel updates he'd done recently.

It wasn't until a few hours later when Casey called that they got the news.

April had been driving to the grocery store when another car hit her vehicle head on. The accident happened so fast and both cars had spun wildly out of control, April's car running into a light pole and even flipping once or twice.

Instantly killed on impact, Casey had said, eerily quiet into the phone. She'd never even felt a moment of pain or had time to realize what was happening. The driver had been a young, reckless thing, smelling of liquor and booze.

He had told the police he was going to be late for his curfew. He walked away with a broken arm and a black eye.

Time had slowed then and things began to unravel. Arrangements were made and Casey insisted on equal input from the Hamatos. April had left behind a small will but had not indicated much in the way of wants or desires, obviously not intending to be gone so young. They buried her at the farmhouse in a small, quiet ceremony on a cool, damp November morning with both humans and non-humans were in attendance. Later on, from a will reading, they found out April had left the farmhouse to both Casey and her "dear friends Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello and Master Splinter" to do as they saw fit.

Her will had stated it was to "remember the memories passed there in happier times."

Everyone mourned in their own way. For two months on end, out of respect, the brothers had rarely left to go topside (with the exception of Raphael) and stopped patrols altogether. Leonardo assisted Casey with the arrangements and selling off the parts of his and April's jointly shared business as Casey alternated between bouts of grief and normalcy. Raphael was rarely seen, except coming home with blood on his hands and charting the progress of the driver who'd hit April through the judicial system. Michelangelo had turned to cooking and his art—Donatello remembered the fridge had been rarely empty because Mikey constantly crafted and recrafted new recipes. Master Splinter struggled to keep the family together and to squash the grief that was threatening to tear it apart.

Donatello, though...Donatello buried himself in his work, almost to the point of obsession. He rarely slept, and when he did, his mind replayed the final conversation with April and her laugh that echoed over the soundwaves. System updates that were monthly were suddenly daily and nothing, _nothing _was good enough to protect the family from the outside. It wasn't until Michelangelo had found him in a fetal position, whispering April's name over and over again in tears did the family realize the toll her passing had on him. Splinter acquired a mix of herbs and tea tailored to combat depression and administered it to him on a weekly basis, barring him from working and training for weeks.

Later on, during discussions with his father and his brothers did Splinter explain why her death had affected them all so much. Her death...her death had no clear enemy, aside from the young man who had hit her while under the influence. There were no Purple Dragons or Foot to exact revenge on, no monster to go after...

She'd been there and gone—the victim of something so seemingly and horribly _normal._

Healing was slow and not without its difficulties. The phrase "one day at a time" became Donatello's mantra and he'd silently applaud himself and his family at the end of the day, simply because they'd made it through. Days became easier and entire weeks would pass where Michelangelo could crack a smile and Raphael wouldn't go out at night, opting to stay in. Leonardo's meditating hours decreased and things finally became semi-normal again, a tender scar covering a gaping hole in their lives.

Casey stayed in contact and for awhile dealt with his grief on his own until joining a grief support group for families of victims of drunk driving at Leonardo's urging. He was back on his feet and working at a garage and still going out with Raphael to bust skulls.

The only thing that was still obvious but that no one changed was when Casey came by every few weeks for dinner in the lair, similar to how he and April had for years. A place was set by Casey's side and no one sat in it and no one commented on it.

They all knew why anyway.

The two year anniversary of April's passing was coming soon and while Donatello doubted it would be easy (_Would it ever?), _he knew the pain would be slightly more manageable. There were days when it seemed like she'd just been there and days where it felt like she'd been gone for a million years.

Days. It all came down to the day.

He flipped the photo over to read the back. Michelangelo, of all people, had found the poem and scribbled it onto the back of the photo, leaving it for him on his desk.

"_R__emember me when I am gone away,_

_Gone far away into the silent land;_

_When you can no more hold me by the hand,_

_Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay._

_Remember me when no more day by day_

_You tell me of our future that you plann'd:_

_Only remember me; you understand_

_It will be late to counsel then or pray._

_Yet if you should forget me for a while_

_And afterwards remember, do not grieve:_

_For if the darkness and corruption leave_

_A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,_

_Better by far you should forget and smile_

_Than that you should remember and be sad."_

Donatello hadn't understood the poem at first, confused about why Mikey thought April would want them to forget her. Later, though, he'd understood, late at night when he'd been alone with his thoughts. The poem was not about forgetting who had left—rather, it was about learning to live without the person who had left and getting on without them. April would have wanted them to keep on fighting and not to stop living on her account.

And that's what Donatello reminded himself. Everyday.

* * *

Dinner with Casey for the most part was uneventful. Plans were discussed and it was decided that the annual trip out to the farmhouse would occur in about three weeks time—it would be right around Halloween but before the weather up north made reaching the farmhouse completely impossible.

Leonardo pulled Donatello aside while he'd been cleaning up dishes and everyone else was distracted by Raphael and Casey regaling the tales of their previous take downs a few nights prior.

"How is it going with the woman?" Leonardo asked, looking on worriedly. "Anything suspicious or odd you've noticed?"

Donatello hesitated a moment before responding. His voice grew more confident with each word. "Nothing much, to be honest. I might need some more time just to make absolutely sure. If there is anything, she does hide it well."

Leonardo glanced at him oddly. "Raph mentioned going through her financial records...?"

_And Raph says that Leo's the nosy one..._Donatello thought to himself and he nodded, answering Leo's question. "I am. You know, just to make sure there are no bribes or anything we can't see."

"Well," Leonardo hesitated but continued on. "If you say so, Donny. Just—you know, be careful."

There was unsaid tension in the air and Donatello wasn't sure he liked what Leonardo may be implying with it.

"She's not April, Leo. I know that."

Leonardo looked like he was about to say something else but nodded, walking away. "I know, Don. I know. Good luck with the surveillance." He joined the rest of the family where Raphael was now fake sparring with Casey to demonstrate the moves the punks had.

For a moment, Donatello had to wonder at himself.

Was he taking it too far?

* * *

**End Author's Note: **...Wait? You're still here? I'm shocked! Anyway, to explain myself—first of all, Donatello is not looking to have Rebecca 'replace' April or anything crazy like that. My interpretation is that Donny and April were very close, almost best friends in a way and the loss hit Don the hardest. I'll also be honest—I knew April was dead before I started this fic. The idea of the turtles having to deal with the death of someone close to them and from somewhat "natural" causes was intriguing to say the least. They can't go after the Foot or Bishop or Stockman—you can only look at the young man who drove under the influence to blame and there is nothing special about him, at all. And I know Don is coming off as 'total creepy stalker' right now but on some level, he's trying to avoid causing his family more pain. Friendships for the turtles = danger and sometimes death. And for the record, I _love _April—I even have RP'd her before! I just feel like this will be a good driving force for the plot and such at large. Anyway, constructive criticism is always appreciated and please do leave a review if you are so inclined! I'd love to hear some thoughts on how this was handled.

**Review Responses: **

_DuckiePray: _Leo will have QUITE a bit to say, that is for certain! ;) Thank you so much again for reviewing—I always look forward to them very much and I'm glad the 'formal' meeting was done in a good light!

_tmntfangirl84_: Watch it! Rebecca HATES 'Becca' and she'll be letting Donny know that—this is for certain! Thank you again for another review—it's nice to have 'regular' reviewers such as yourself.

_Mikell: _Thank you for all your reviews! Yes, I agree it is a bit unlikely for him to be exposed as such, but...well, after reading this chapter, maybe that helps explain things? Glad you liked the AN—I totally had to give credit where credit is due! And good for you for catching on the April issues—you're the first one who has.

_BubblyShell22_: You're such a sweetheart—thank you so much! I'm working VERY hard to make sure Rebecca isn't a Mary Sue and your comments on that are appreciated. Also, thanks for the grammar notice! I will definitely fix that.

_M.D. Owens: _Thanks for your reviews—I very much appreciate the constructive criticism and will have to go back and find a way to better describe Rebecca in the first chapter. I'm glad I've also pleasantly surprised you—makes me feel good to know I might actually be a good writer. :)

_Melody Winters: _Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm excited to see how it plays out too!

_D'Fuentes: _Thank you for the reviews! :) They mean so much—and yes, Donny is being just a bit of a stalker here...I'm hoping to play that up in the next few chapters as a plot device. We'll see how that goes!


	5. Debate and Discussion

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Poem mentioned belongs to the Sara Teasdale. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about this chapter, folks. It's a bit boring but things will be picking up soon—I have to get friendships established after all. I also would appreciate any feedback regarding the mini time skip here—too big or does it make sense? And THANK YOU for all your support on the last chapter! It means to so much to me. I'm glad to know I still have some people with me! Also, I'm now responding to reviews individually—I had NO idea that was possible until recently and it makes a bit easier on me...

Thank you to _D'Fuentes, d, tmntfangirl84, DuckiePray _and _The Last Element _for your sweet and thoughtful reviews on the last chapter—you continue to inspire me. Onwards to the story—please review if you are so inclined!

* * *

_The media of eighteenth and nineteenth century Britain was restricted to the odafjadfoijpdofjfdiafj_

"Fuck," Rebecca whispered quietly to herself, moving to backspace the ridiculous mumbo jumbo suddenly appearing on her screen from her book smashing into her keyboard. Donatello glanced up from his place on the floor to raise an eyeridge at her movements and she gave him a sheepish smile.

The last three weeks had been overwhelmingly uneventful. Rebecca's coursework for the semester was gradually increasing with each passing day. She'd started the part of the semester where she woke up in cold sweats and blind panic thinking she'd missed some crucial assignment or deadline. _Only three to four more years_, she thought sarcastically to herself, clearing her throat and returning to finish up the paragraph.

Also over the last three weeks, Donatello had morphed into a frequent visitor to her apartment and Rebecca couldn't say she minded the company. Sometimes the pair of them worked in companionable silence and other times it was impossible for both to shut up depending on the nature of the conversation. She was delighted to discover Donatello was rather intelligent (more intelligent than she would have given him credit for at first—being a mutant and all) and liked having interesting debates and discussions. He often asked about her and her life. So far, he'd learned about her childhood fears, how she came from a pretty normal family raised by her mother and father and a bratty little sister coming along when she was seven and she once dreamed of becoming a news reporter. It was to the point where he knew precisely why she despised carrots and she was allergic to squash.

Sadly, however, Rebecca was not able to tell you much about Donatello. The few times she attempted to steer the conversation in his direction or to ask questions about his family and origin, he'd shut down completely and change the subject. It was to the point now where Rebecca gave up on learning anything more about him and instead kept to safer conversations about his work and current projects.

And from what Rebecca had learned, it was _a lot. _There were times Donatello would be going on and on about the engineering of this property and how this particular chemical would oxidize into...

Needless to say, she perfected the art of looking both interested and like she actually understood the words coming out of his mouth. On the other hand, Donatello had the patience of a saint and listened to Rebecca as she had droned on and on about her research and the papers she was working on for the semester.

The two were an odd pair, to say the least.

She closed the laptop, plucking her glasses off her face and decided the work she'd done tonight was enough for a weekday night. Her glance looked towards Donatello who was hurriedly typing on his laptop, mouth quirked at an odd angle as he worked through some kind of puzzle. She suppressed a giggle and slid onto the floor next to him, looking at the screen.

"What are you working on?"

Donatello turned to give his floor mate a look. She shot him a cheeky grin—it was fairly obvious early on that he was easily annoyed by people looking over his shoulder as he worked. Thus, Rebecca made it a point to do it often, especially because the turtle still insisted on calling her Becca.

"I'm working on an MCAT study guide," he said, drifting his eyes back to the screen.

"MCATs?" The confusion was evident in her voice. "Why are you studying for the MCATs? It's not like you can..." Her voice faded out, not wanting to voice out loud the obvious.

He chuckled, closing his laptop and turned to face her. "I retake them every few years. Just to keep my skills up. You could say I'm the doctor of the family."

"Interesting," she contemplated this for a moment. "Do they get sick a lot?" The question was an honest one—why would a family find it necessary to employ one of their own to be a makeshift medical professional?

Per usual, he hesitated a bit before answering and she knew he was in the beginning stages of shutting down—like always. "Hurt, actually..." he trailed off, quiet. "It's the ninja thing."

She only nodded, unsure of how to respond. The awkward silence came over them like it often did in these situations and she moved quickly to offer a smile and a distraction.

"Well, they should be happy they have someone so smart looking out for them." She lightly patted his shoulder and stood up to grab a book sitting on her coffee table, handing it to him. Donatello took the book and began flipping through it, sighing.

"This again? Do we _really _have to read it again?" He bounced back a bit, eager for the change in conversation. Rebecca was happy she'd managed to keep him occupied.

"Consider it furthering your literary education..." She grinned, fixing her ponytail. "Your choice. You pick this time."

Donatello sighed, exasperated and thumbed through a few pages in the book, finally settling on one in particular. "Fine—here goes nothing..."

_"I am not yours, not lost in you,  
Not lost, although I long to be  
Lost as a candle lit at noon,  
Lost as a snowflake in the sea._

_You love me, and I find you still_  
_A spirit beautiful and bright,_  
_Yet I am I, who long to be_  
_Lost as a light is lost in light._

_Oh plunge me deep in love - put out_  
_My senses, leave me deaf and blind,_  
_Swept by the tempest of your love,_  
_A taper in a rushing wind."_

He made a face at himself when he finished the last line, putting the book down next to him in disgust. "Becca, I will never understand your fascination with this woman's poetry." His eyes settled on her face and he was some amused to find her with her eyes closed, reciting the poem from heart. Finishing with her quiet recitation, she opened her eyes, smiling.

"Because it's beautiful. And tragic. The literary world has forgotten Sara Teasdale." Rebecca grabbed the book again and looked through a few more pages. "Don't call me Becca." She added the last part as an afterthought, thoroughly distracted by the book.

"She committed suicide like several other poets. Nothing very special about that other than the bout of mental illness. And I like Becca. It suits you."

A growl sounded from her throat and she eyed him above the pages of the book. "Rebecca suits me just fine. It's my name. Besides, stupid Tommy York called me "Becca Beastie" which then morphed into another name that begins with a 'B' by the time we started high school together."

"I could call you that?" Donatello offered it as an alternative with a crooked grin and she smacked him with the book, laying it on the couch above them.

"No, thank you. Truly." Another book was plucked from her shelf and she brought it to rest between them. "Did you finish _Pride and Prejudice_? Finally?"

Nodding, he pulled the battered copy from his laptop case. Even though he'd been in possession of the book for a few weeks now, his family's attention had been focused on an intense ever-growing situation involving the Purple Dragon and an up and coming gang in the area. Raphael pushed and persuaded Leonardo that the time to act was _now _and when the turtles had busted into the supposed warehouse where the stolen items and goods were being held, there was nothing there. Donatello's attention had then shifted to setting up undercover operations and surveillance there but still, no such luck. He hoped by the time they left for the farmhouse the upcoming weekend there might be a new lead. Something was telling Donatello there was more to the situation than just stolen property—there was evidence that people, multiple people were residing in the warehouse. The recorded conversations he'd managed to intercept were heavily encoded and it was taking him some time to crack it.

The book, for Donatello, had been...interesting, to say the least. It took him a bit to become accustomed to the older English style of writing and he did find some parts of the book amusing. Darcy, in many ways, came across as a 'douche' (to borrow Mikey's phrasing) and he had a hard time figuring out why Elizabeth ended up falling in love with him and marrying him.

It was the stupid letter, though, in the book, Rebecca kept droning on and on about. About how simply executed it was and how Darcy still wanted to explain himself to Elizabeth, despite the fact that she had turned him down coldly in his proposal for marriage. Also combine that with the fact that he had saved her sister to the best of his ability from social ridicule.

Thank God Raph or Mikey hadn't seen him reading the damn book—it was rubbing off on him.

Rebecca stroked the cover of the book, smiling wistfully. " 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'"

Donatello rolled his eyes and smirked slightly, mimicking her. "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains."

She glared at him, huffy, and crossed her arms. "Shut up. You didn't have to read it." She paused for a moment, looking worried and biting her lip. "You did like it, though? If you didn't, that's okay—I mean, not everyone would like it." Rebecca almost seemed hesitant to continue the conversation, truly concerned and believing Don did not like book.

Clearly, the girl was somewhat gullible and/or too sensitive.

He snorted at her and laughed. "Teasing, Becca. Just teasing. I did like it...it was just different. And Darcy was a bit of a jerk."

"So was Elizabeth," she countered, revived by the idea of a debate. The excitement was starting to twinkle again in her eyes. "She went and judged Darcy without even knowing him – ,"

"All she had to go on were rumors going through society," he shot back, instantly going through the book for quotes to prove his argument. "And Darcy wasn't exactly what one would call welcoming." His fingers paused and he tapped the page with one finger for emphasis. "See! In the party at Bingley's house he said all those negative things about Elizabeth's family."

"Psht," Rebecca waved her hand dismissively. "He didn't know Elizabeth was eavesdropping—like a sneak, I might add—and she was going to have to face the fact sooner or later her family didn't fit into society very well." Moving from her place on the floor, she grabbed her Marlboro Lights from the coffee table and walked across the small apartment to grab her lighter lying on a counter in the kitchen. "Besides, it's not like she didn't know her family was the odd man out in British nineteenth century." She meandered towards the back of the apartment and opened up her window, setting an ashtray on the window sill. A cigarette came flowing out of the pack and she held it up to her lips, lighting it and positioned a small, oscillating fan on her face so the smoke from her first few puffs blew directly into the cool late October air. Donatello watched the entire set up with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Most landlords prefer a smoke free apartment," he stated, indicating a change in the topic of conversation. He purposely made sure his sentence could be interpreted like a fact—not a hint that her smoking was a poor decision.

Rebecca rolled her eyes again and flicked a few sparks into her ashtray. "I smoke outside the window—does that count for anything?"

"Not for much when you're inhaling poison into your lungs." Distaste was evident in his voice, disapproving but still amused she went to great lengths to avoid having smoke in her apartment.

Quirking her lips to the side, she let silence settle over the two of them for a minute before choosing to respond. The silence allowed her to relish the sweet taste of her nicotine. "I've been smoking for awhile, Don. We've all got to die someday anyway."

"You could quit."

She snorted—he made it sound so simple.

"I've tried, babe—trust me, I've tried. It's cheaper to _not _smoke, after all." Her fingers brushed over the cigarette as she let it dangle over the side of the ashtray. Ticking off her fingers, she made a list. "Nicotine patch, nicotine gum, Chantix, acupuncture, and the coup de grace...hypnosis." She wrinkled her face at the memory. "The hypnotist was a freak, though, if you ask me."

Donatello studied her. "There's always cold turkey." Rebecca let out a barking laugh while she inhaled and exhaled again.

"Unless you want to see mega-bitch, I don't suggest that as a way to go, unfortunately."

"Why, though? _Why _do you smoke when you know about all the harm it does to your body?" Facts were facts as far as Donatello was concerned. Logically, it made sense—why would a person spend money on drugs that in the end only succeeded in killing them?

She looked thoughtful and pondered his question. He hadn't asked it accusatorily—he sounded genuinely concerned someone like her easily plowed through a pack of cigarettes a day.

Finally, she answered him, looking out the window at the lights glowing in the building across her street. "I was teased a lot in school—told I was too smart for my own good. One day, I got sick of it—wanted to prove I wasn't the goody two shoes everyone that I was." The memories of the taunts and laughs bubbled to the surface and she grew annoyed and inhaled again. "I started smoking to show them I was a total badass. Kind of backfired on me, didn't it?" She turned and shot him a wry smile, grounding her cigarette butt into the ashtray. "It helps me deal with stress, too. I can barely string together a sentence when I'm working on papers because I _need _to have the nicotine to concentrate."

"...You could still quit." His arms were crossed, watching her. She moved back into the apartment and closed the window, turning off the fan.

"One day, I will," she promised, sitting on her bed. "I just can't right now. Eventually, I will—once I work up the strength." The bangs on the side of her face blew up as she exhaled a sudden puff of air, desperately seeking a different direction for the current conversation.

"You're not going to see me much in the next few weeks," Donatello offered, subtly shifting their talk.

Rebecca looked up at him surprised...and slightly saddened. "Oh...secret ninja type stuff?" It wouldn't do to lie—even though she had known the turtle for a short period of time, she'd become accustomed to their little routine of him stopping by later at night every few days. Gradually, those days had been increasing and she found herself spending less time at the library because she wanted to be in her apartment to be working on _something _while Donatello visited with her.

It...it was still a friendship. But, just a _different _one. She had him all to herself...and she liked it that way.

Though, there was still a portion of her mind where she thought she had seriously lost her mind and she was having delusional episodes involving a humanoid turtle. But, she didn't like to think about that possibility.

He chuckled slightly and walked over to her door to secure his belt around his shell and to put his bo staff in its place on his back. "I wish. We—well, I'm going to spend some time away from the city. To...to visit a friend."

A small twinge of jealousy made its presence known in Rebecca's mind. She had been the only friend she knew of, aside from his family...or so she thought.

_It could be possible he knows other people, _she thought. _Maybe other people he's helped like me._

_Selfish to think that way, anyway, Rebecca._

"Well," she pouted, batting her eyelashes to look silly. "I suppose I'll have no one around to keep me in check."

"Make sure you get that paper outline finished," he wagged a finger at her, as he came close to where she sat on her bed, his backpack perched on his shoulder, indicating he was getting ready to leave.

Rebecca rolled her eyes at him and stood up, adjusting her pajama bottoms and hoodie. "I will, I'm almost done anyway. But...well, I'll miss you." She said the last part awkwardly. It was unsure to her whether or not she was overstepping any boundaries—the two hadn't necessarily discussed entering into a friendship.

He looked surprised this time and nodded to her. "I'll miss you too, but I'm not going to be gone for too long." Thoughtful contemplation came over his face. He reached into his belt and held out an odd looking walkie talkie. She blinked at the object, turning it over in her hands.

"Don...you shouldn't have." Her brows furrowed and she tugged at it lightly. "Really—you shouldn't have."

Donatello rolled his eyes at her this time and grabbed the shell cell out from her hands and opened it for her. "A cell phone—I designed it myself. You can program your number in there—I can text."

"Oh!" A blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks and she gingerly typed out her number and name, making certain to input herself as 'Rebecca' into the phone. "I didn't realize—most cell phones these days, are just...well...you know..."

"I've got prototypes of newer ones at home." He sounded slightly irritated like she was questioning his skills. "Just haven't had time to get them fully tested."

She handed the shell cell back to him, watching him fire off a text to her phone so she had his number. "You could just...buy iPhones and modify them."

He scoffed at her, shaking his head with a smirk. "Far too easy for me, Becca." Donatello gave her a slight wink and wrenched her window open. "I'll be back soon—give it a week or more."

She nodded to him, stretching across her bed on her stomach to watch him. "Have a good trip!" Rebecca managed a small wave and a smile to him, resting her face in one of her hands. "...Keep safe." It couldn't hurt to add the last part, she thought—just in case.

He nodded to her and shot her a quick smile before disappearing through the open window, into the cool night air. She waited a few moments before mustering up the energy to go and close her window. Picking up her phone off the bed, she tapped around on the screen to pull up the text Don had sent her, expecting a simple 'Hi.'

Instead, it said:

_Quit. Smoking. _

She growled and her fingers flew across the screen, typing out a reply.

* * *

Donatello was leaping up to Rebecca's roof when he shell cell vibrated by his side. He pulled it out upon reaching the roof, curious as to who might be trying to reach him. Only two words appeared on his screen, the top portion indicating it was Rebecca's response to his text.

_Fuck. You._

He laughed and made his way across the roof to leap onto the next one. After shooting a reply to her, he steadied himself to make the jump, when movement to his left caught his eye. He stopped, glancing over and was startled a bit when a familiar pair of eyes stared back at him.

"Betcha you wish you hadn't showed me how to work that tracking device, huh Donny?" The voice held a hint of laughter to it and Donatello could feel the smirk working its way across its face.


	6. Talking is Good for the Soul

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **Hello there again! Folks, I cannot TELL you how hard it was to write this chapter. I must've rewritten the scene with Rebecca and her friend a BILLION times and while it's better than the first draft, I'm still not entirely happy with it. This chapter is mostly filler but I do hope you enjoy it—we see some _interesting _thoughts from both Donatello and Rebecca regarding the other in this one. Also, I wasn't sure if anyone was interested in music to listen to while reading this story but I will let you know I have started writing most of the chapters listening to the album "Something for the Rest of Us" by the Goo Goo Dolls. I'll eventually reveal which song fits the story best-see if you can guess until I do!

Thank you to _Mikell, D'Fuentes, tmntfangirl84, BubblyShell22, Wea, DuckiePray, musichick _and _M.D. Owen_ for their reviews and continued support. You all continue to inspire me. As always, please enjoy and do review if you are so inclined!

* * *

A familiar face covered with an orange masked grinned and twirled one of his nunchucks like it was a second limb and then held up the tracker Donatello had designed.

Michelangelo. Of course.

Donatello struggled for words, trying to think of the best way to explain this but the grin on Mikey's face said it all.

He was going to have one hell of a time trying to explain away this one.

"Leo was wondering where you were and then I remembered you mentioned something about surveillance on the Purple Dragons. Told him I'd do him a favor and check up on you so he didn't have to do it himself," the younger turtle grinned at his brother, setting his weapon back in his belt. "I was _completely_ shocked to find you here, with a _girl _no less," Michelangelo winked at him and Donatello groaned.

The truth was Donatello had done some surveillance on the Purple Dragons tonight. Straightening a few well placed cameras and recording devices, though, had taken much less time then he'd thought. For a few extra hours, he meandered about in the area, determined to try to catch something but, alas, there was still no sign of activity. Hun's influence on the Purple Dragons was a positive one, at least for the gang—they were far more efficient and orderly than in the past.

Let it be said—Donatello, in spite of his growing fondness for Rebecca, would never purposely walk out on an important mission to spend time with her. He enjoyed her company, that was for certain, but his duties and his honor came first, above all else. However, when he decided to head home for the night, it just so happened that he had to pass by the block her apartment was situated on and he just so happened to have his laptop with him that meant he could take care of some things while hanging out with her. It was the smart thing to do—he was killing two birds with one stone.

His family finding out about the specifics on Rebecca, though? No, that hadn't been in the plans at all.

"Mikey," Donatello was annoyed and rubbed his temples with his fingers. "Y—you can't tell Leo yet—I will soon, just not yet."

"Dude, I've totally got you covered," his younger brother waved his hand, jumping with ease onto the other rooftop, Donatello following behind him. "Twenty bucks and pizza three nights next week will _definitely_ make sure I'm covered."

_Bribery, _thought Donatello. _Why am I not surprised? _

"She's a cute one, Donny. I peeked through the window while you were with her. But, dude, she does this _weeeeird _thing with her lips when she's typing on her laptop –."

Donatello sighed and slapped a hand across his forehead. "You were _spying _on us—more specifically, _her_?

"Psht, yeah," Michelangelo straightened his bandana and began the descent down a ladder into an alley below. "I needed to see who was responsible for distracting my older brother—Becky's her name, right? Raph told me you were _totally _stalking her. Way to win the ladies over..."

"She's a friend, Mikey, and her name is Rebecca, not Becky. She hates nicknames."

"Don't you mean '_Becca?'_" Michelangelo's light blue eyes sparkled with mirth while he lifted the manhole cover, making kissy noises.

"...So you were eavesdropping too? Thanks, Mike—really, thanks." The purple clad turtle was clearly irritated and rapidly climbed down the ladder into the sewer, close to fuming.

Michelangelo followed behind him, pulling the manhole cover over. "Aw, dude—don't be like that. I think it's really cool you've made a friend since...well, since April." Mikey, surprisingly, had been one of the first of the brothers to readjust to life without April. It wasn't that he hadn't missed her or mourned but he knew April would have wanted him to get back to life as quickly as possible. The best way to honor their late friend, Michelangelo determined, was to learn to live without her and remember her fondly.

Donatello stopped walking at the mention of April's name and his fists tightened a bit. "She's not April." He was tense and Michelangelo swallowed, careful to choose his next words.

"Dude, no one could ever be April," he spoke quietly, watching Donatello closely. "You gotta admit it, though—it doesn't hurt to meet new people. I haven't seen you laugh like that in a long time—even at me." There was a slight chuckle—Mikey's attempt inserting some humor into the situation.

The older of the two stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths. The two year anniversary of April's passing was beginning to weigh down on him and he suddenly felt guilty for the time he was spending with Rebecca. She wasn't April—not even close. She couldn't talk science (he'd seen the glazed look in her eyes when he did), she wasn't great with computers aside from knowing how to use the task manager like a pro and she _smoked _for God's sake.

"Hey," Michelangelo touched his shoulder lightly, giving it a soft pat. "Do yourself a favor and don't compare them—Rebecca is Rebecca and April is April. They just both happen to be female and enjoy spending time with you."

It was the moments like this that surprised Donatello the most. While Mikey was certainly the more free spirited out of the turtles, he was also the most empathetic and the one most likely to read your mind. Normally, it irritated Donatello to no end, but right now?

"Thanks Mikey," he covered his brother's hand with his own, still on his shoulder. "I appreciate it."

Michelangelo grinned again and gave him a thumbs up with his free hand. "No problem, dude! But, I really should be giving you advice on how to ask her out—a few lessons from the Mikester and she'll be _begging _you to take her -."

"Shut up," Donatello grunted, making a face. "Don't even go there—she's a friend, nothing more. Leo would _kill _us if we even thought about it."

"Yeah, you're right." Michelangelo removed his hand from his brother's shoulder and suddenly shot off like a bat out of hell down the sewer corridor. "Last one home has to make Sensei's tea in the morning!"

"Hey! Wait!" He took after him, growling. "You got a head start—not fair!"

While Donatello ran after his brother, though, one thought refused to leave his mind.

_Lying on the couch, her head on his lap, stroking her hair..._

Only friends, after all.

Right?

* * *

The late afternoon traffic buzzed by in a flurry of noise outside the cafe where Rebecca and her friend were seated. The sun provided some much needed warmth to the chilly fall weather and she was confused why Sara had insisted on sitting outside for their coffee meeting—the environment was certainly not conducive to a quiet, intimate conversation between friends.

"So, I told him—you want to keep on playing this game, I'm going to walk away - ," Sara gushed, using her arms for added emphasis. Sara and Rebecca had gone to undergrad together and now both resided in New York City. Instead of becoming a starving graduate student, Sara became a well-paid paralegal to a respectable up and coming firm in New York City. Their schedules were often hectic with Sara holding down a full time job and Rebecca wrestling with piles of school work but they tried to fit in a coffee date once every few weeks to catch up. Mostly, Rebecca just listened to Sara and chimed in with her two cents every now and then—it worked out.

Sighing, she took a sip of her coffee, nodding in tandem every few words to Sara's and her phone vibrated abruptly in her pocket. Slightly excited, she pulled it out to study it and laughed to herself at the words on the screen, with the name 'Don' in front of them.

_I'm going to kill someone. _

Rebecca looked to see Sara was still lost in her dramatic tale and she rapidly shot off another text to Donatello.

_Is the long road trip getting to you? Remember, the woods provide excellent places to hide bodies._

To be honest, she wasn't sure where Donatello was going, only that he'd mentioned he would be leaving the city and there were lots of places to go outside of NYC where trees and grass were in abundance. A few days had passed since she'd last seen him and their text conversations increased the longer he was on the road, traveling to his final destination. She assumed he was with his family but per usual, she hadn't asked too many questions.

Her phone vibrated again in her hand and she read the text, stifling another giggle.

_Someone might actually miss this person. Besides, there would be witnesses. I had NO IDEA it was possible for someone to vomit this much._

Rebecca's fingers tapped across the screen, typing a response, when the phone was suddenly wrenched out of her grasp. She looked around wildly only to realize Sara had the phone and was scrolling through it. She appeared to be both annoyed and curious at Rebecca's obvious distraction.

"I needed to see who you were texting because you certainly weren't listening to me. Very rude," Sara said, reading. "Who the hell is Don? And...wow. He's been blowing up your phone over the last few days." She scrolled through a few more texts and her eyebrows shot up. "Did you two _seriously _get into a debate on the Scientific Revolution?"

"Yes!" Rebecca squeaked, making a grab for her phone but Sara only held it out of reach, reading more.

"And now he's texting you about vomit?" Sara looked at her disgusted and threw the phone back onto the table. "You sleeping with him? Seems like your type."

Rebecca sputtered and seized the phone, shoving it into her pocket, thus leaving the text unanswered. "I am _not. _He's only a friend, Sara. Jeez." She rolled her eyes, taking a long sip of her coffee.

"You can be friends with a fuck buddy."

She choked on the large gulp of coffee she'd taken and launched into a coughing fit. After wiping her face off with a napkin and taking a swig from the water bottle she carried, Rebecca glared at her friend. "It's not like that—not even close."

Sara sipped her coffee thoughtfully, raising another eyebrow at her friend. "Not attractive enough? I could understand that—but you need to get laid, Rebecca! There's a ton of cute guys at grad programs at NYU—Sabrina and Deanna have told me that much. You should try to hook up with some of them - ."

"Not interested," Rebecca stated firmly, putting her water bottle back inside of her bag. "School takes up a lot of time—it's a miracle that I even managed to get out here to see you for a coffee date."

Sara sighed, taking a quick bite of the scone she'd gotten with her coffee. "You just like to make a lot of excuses." She looked suspicious, eyeing Rebecca. "How'd you meet this Don guy anyway? Normally, you'd be all over telling us but on this one...you're quiet. Very odd..." Sara grinned evilly, wiping her face with a napkin.

_He's a giant ninja turtle and we met when he offered to fix my car but I thought he was a serial rapist and/or pervert at first. Would you like me to admit myself to the psych ward or did you want to have me committed yourself?_

"He helped me with some car trouble one night, when I was trying to leave school," Rebecca lied easily. "Nice guy—we hit it off—_as friends_," she added quickly at the spark of teasing in Sara's eyes.

During Donatello's first few visits, not much was said between him and Rebecca regarding his appearance and secrecy—it was an unacknowledged fact she probably shouldn't be running around telling people about mutants living in the city. Good things never happened when those sorts of things got out to the mass public anyway—X-Men being a prime example, in her opinion.

"When can we meet him, then? Maybe one of us would want to take a shot at him! Not fair to keep the chivalrous ones to yourself - ."

"Bad skin condition. Bad, bad, _bad _skin condition," she interjected hurriedly. "Also, he's a med student—he can't do much to get away from his studies. They consume his time—I barely ever see him." She was grasping at straws, concocting this cockamamie story about Don the Med Student. His looking at the MCAT study guides provided the only excuses she could think of at the moment. After all, he sort of was a doctor—he just didn't have the necessary formal education required by the rest of the non-mutant world.

Sara only blinked at Rebecca, puzzled. "Good grief—you must really not want us to meet him! Are his looks that bad?"

She frowned at the question. Was Donatello...handsome? Rebecca didn't feel like she could be a good judge of that—he wasn't human, after all. She was preprogrammed to some extent to find other members of the human race pleasing. Some _human _men were attractive...but a giant, mutated turtle?

"He has a nice personality?" Rebecca managed, sounding unsure. It wasn't a fib—Donatello's sarcasm and dry sense of humor had appealed to her instantly and made it easier to talk to him. The shell and green skin unfortunately made it hard to forget he was a turtle at times. But, occasionally, the way he could shoot her a look or debate some intense philosophical point...

It was difficult to make sense of, really.

"Ouch," Sara teased, smirking. "I never thought you were shallow."

"I'm not!" Rebecca exclaimed, flabbergasted. "I—well, he does have a nice personality and we do have some nice conversations..." she trailed off, thinking. Within a moment, her eyes refocused and she shook her head, as if ridding herself of her thoughts and remembering she was in the present, with Sara.

"It's hard to explain," she snapped, glaring. "No more about Don—it's none of your business." Waving her hand, she gestured to back to Sara, agitated. "Enough about me—what's going on again with Bill the Dick?"

It took Sara a minute to recover from Rebecca's hasty mood swing but she simply shrugged and went along with the change in conversation. After knowing Rebecca over the years, one learned to simply roll with the punches.

The rest of the day, until falling asleep that night, Rebecca was bothered by her inability to answer Sara's question, replaying the conversation over and over again in her head. It didn't make any sense, really.

Why was it so hard for her to admit Donatello wasn't attractive? She growled at herself and turned over, screwing her eyes shut and listened to the familiar hum of traffic outside her window.

Looks didn't mean shit these days anyway.

* * *

Northampton, Massachusetts was having a more frigid autumn than in years past. In spite of this, crisp gold and red leaves still clung to the trees with a fierce desperation, determined to not fall before their time. The scattered warm fall colors dotted the landscape in rolling hills eerily similar to a New England landscape painting.

Donatello trudged through a familiar path in the woods, fallen leaves crunching noisily beneath his feet. His family and Casey had arrived a few days ago deciding to stay for a week or two instead of the previous weekend trip. Fresh air and sunshine would be hard to come by once winter hit NYC and Splinter thought they could do with the small break before cabin fever would inevitably hit them as it always did during the colder months. Michelangelo and Casey were in town, picking up items for an elaborate dinner menu Mikey had put together. Raphael and Leonardo were in the barn where the original intention to have a complex training session had degenerated into a sparring and wrestling match. When Donatello saw them last, Leonardo had Raphael in a headlock, a rare grin working its way across the leader's face. Splinter was settled at the house with a pile of books, catching up on some reading the solitude of the farmhouse provided for concentration.

It was the first time since their arrival that everyone was occupied in some way or another. Donatello had decided it was the perfect time for him to escape for some private time. He suspected his brothers and the others did this on their own when they visited—there would be moments over the next few days where one of them or another would disappear for an hour or two. No one questioned it and no questions were asked when the missing one returned. It was a silent realization everyone noted—each one had to pay their respects in their own way.

The trail ended and Donatello smiled sadly at the familiar sight of the oak tree in the center of a small field. Sometimes he regretted they had not placed her closer to the house but she had always liked this spot. More than once, Donatello had spotted her in this field, standing beneath the tree wrapped in her robe and a steaming cup of coffee, watching the light touch the surrounding hills and tree tops. Fall had been her favorite season here—the colors providing their own unique works of art—very different from the antiques she collected. "Nature's own artistic palate," she called it.

She explained to him once her father had kept a swing on this tree before she was too old for such things. He would come with her to this very spot, she described with a sad smile, and push her on it in the mornings so they could watch the sunrise together. Donatello had seen pictures of her in her youth, uncontrollable red curls around a pale, freckled face. Her very being was imprinted here and it hadn't seemed right to put her in any other place.

The simple tombstone sat, silent and gray in front of the tree and he knelt in front of it, brushing aside the fallen leaves. The engraving was simple but articulate.

_April O'Neil_

_Beloved Partner, Sister and Friend_

"_To know even one life breathed easier__  
__because she lived is to know she__  
__truly succeeded while here."_

He smiled sadly and laid the bouquet of red and pink carnations he carried in front of it, moving aside the ones left a few months before. Donatello would make sure to bring the older bouquet back to the house to make sure it was properly disposed of. Someone else had already been to visit, it seemed—a small arrangement of yellow chrysanthemums lay next to the grave marker.

Donatello's brown eyes became teary and he laid a hand on the marker, touching it lightly.

"Hi April. I've missed you."

A few tears fell from his eyes, blurring his sight.


	7. Jealousy Burns

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **Hey there again! I'm a writing machine these days but I'm sad to say, I may slow down soon because I start work on my MA again next week. :( I'll also be writing a thesis this year—no worries, though! I am going to aim for a chapter a week. This chapter is helping advance things a bit forward and I wish I had a better explanation for Rebecca at the end...let me just say...she's a jealous creature. And she has flaws, too—something to keep in mind!

Thank you to _D'Fuentes, tmntfangirl84, DuckiePray, _and _M.D. Owen_ for their reviews and continued support. You all continue to inspire me. As always, please enjoy and do review if you are so inclined!

* * *

Rebecca was quite certain she no longer had a gag reflex.

The young woman lay on the tile of her bathroom floor, rather enjoying the feel of the cool tile beneath her face. Her face felt far too hot and she knew if she looked into the mirror, she would certainly scream. She hadn't even bathed in what...two days now?

November had arrived to NYC with a dramatic decrease in temperature and while Rebecca was equipped to deal with unpredictable weather (it was the east coast after all), she hadn't been prepared for the sudden days where the wind chill was making it feel like it was thirty-two degrees. Her body had a tendency to never adjust well to rapid changes in temperature and as a result, she had a scratchy throat almost immediately upon the descent of the cold front. Within the next day and a half, the scratchy throat had blossomed into a torture device and she was running what she believed to be a high temperature. It was hard to determine, however, because the graduate student did not own any thermometers other than the one she'd recklessly bought to test the temperature of meat. Mind you, she never actually cooked.

Today, though...today the vomiting had started, along with the chills and shakes. Luckily, most of her assignments were halfway started and her professors were somewhat understanding about her absences—showing up in person to discuss them had seemed to do the trick, with one of them mentioning she "looked like death." Rebecca disagreed—death certainly would look better because it would bring sweet relief from the way she was feeling right now.

Most of the day had been spent in her bathroom, the window to her apartment thrown open because it was _so fucking hot_ despite the freezing temperatures outside. Anytime she left the bathroom to grab a cold water from the fridge or a measly cracker to put her in her empty stomach, she would be running back to the toilet within seconds to empty the sustenance she dared put in her body. Her TV blared in the background from when she had switched it on hours ago as a distraction—unfortunately, it was difficult to enjoy the distraction when she was practically living in her bathroom.

Rebecca drew her knees up to her chest, shaking as a set of chills overtook her body and let out a soft moan. The announcer from some fast food commercial was now describing in agonizing _graphic detail _the ingredients on a famous cheeseburger and pickle sandwich. The mere mention of food made her nauseous. Lifting herself up off the floor, she was leaned against the toilet and heaved what little was left in her system.

In the midst of her bout of illness, Rebecca thought she heard a familiar knocking on the window but she shook her head at herself, laying back down on the tile. _Hallucinations...just what I need, _she thought, closing her eyes to drown out the pounding in her head.

Again, she heard knocking and the sound of someone entering the apartment, calling her name softly. Her friends knew she was on the brink of death and to stay away—she felt for her phone by her side and pulled it up, befuddled as to who could be visiting. She tried to focus her eyes—several missed calls and text messages from...Don. Her eyes widened and she immediately brought up the log with his information in it, reading through it quickly. Fuck—he had texted her _two _days ago saying he was back in town. Another text mentioned he wouldn't be able to come by for a day or two as he took care of some things at home. Each text was progressively more frantic with the final one time-stamped from about half an hour ago.

_I'm coming over. Now._

Almost on cue, she made out the shadow of a familiar turtle on the wall near the door of her bathroom, leaning in, calling out her name. It was louder this time and sounding...angry? Scared? Rebecca couldn't really tell.

Weakly, she called out to him, "Don...I'm in here." She contemplated standing up to greet him but sitting up tended to make her dizzy which then led to vomit—so, she stayed where she was, enjoying the relief the tile brought her.

"Becca?" She squinted enough to see him kneeling down next to her, looking worried and frenzied. "Did someone hurt you?" His face was suddenly up against hers and she moaned, moving back. Too close.

"Sick," she managed, pointing delicately to the toilet. Donatello scooted over to glance into the toilet and winced, flushing the debris down. Rebecca made an embarrassed sound, watching him crawl back over to her. She hadn't bathed in two days, her hair resembled a rat's nest and she was wearing the oldest sweat pants she owned with a hole in the crotch.

She was really up for entertaining company.

"Becca?" Donatello said again, leaning down next to her. She felt his hand brush against her forehead for a moment and he pulled it back, clucking his tongue. He took her wrist in his larger fingers and pressed against it, counting softly. She would have laughed if she had the energy—he was actually taking her pulse. He let go after a moment and tried helping her up so she was sitting up instead of laying on the tiled floor.

Donatello slipped himself behind her, hauling her up against the front of his plastron. "You're burning up—why didn't you call me?!" _Oh God, the world is dizzy. _She blinked a few times trying to right the room. "And it's freezing in here, Rebecca—how do you expect to get better when you aren't keeping warm?!" _Uh oh...first name._

"It was hot," she whimpered, curling into him a bit. He was colder than her floor since he'd just come in front the outside.

"Did you get a flu shot? I'm fairly certain you have the flu—how's your throat? Pupil dilation seems fine..." He continued on, muttering to himself as he examined her. Rebecca couldn't really bring herself to care at the moment—the only thing that mattered was how cool his body felt next to hers.

"Hate needles," she said quietly. "I don't normally get this sick when the weather changes..."

"You should still get one!" Donatello snapped, looking around wildly. "Do you even own a thermometer?—I could make a better diagnosis if I knew your exact body temperature."

"Don't own one," she whispered. "Only have a meat thermometer and that's not going to help us very much." Rebecca laughed clumsily at herself, the movement causing her head to whirl around again and the familiar nausea took over. "Oh God - ." She was out of Donatello's arms in a split second and hunched over the toilet again, vomiting. In between heaves, she winced from the pain in her muscles—vomiting on and off all day was taking a toll on her.

She felt Donatello's hand come up around her neck and she didn't understand why he was there. This was fucking gross—the vomit was just brown and grey now—pure acid. He began pulling back her tangled hair—haphazardly thrown into a bun, most of which was falling out now—and tightened it, making a mock ponytail. He whispered to her soothingly and while she couldn't make out what he said, it was oddly comforting to her. When she finished after a minute or so, she laid her head down on the porcelain, careful not to move too much. Donatello continued to rub her back and pulled her hair down from the bun, placing the hair tie next to them on the floor.

"You should take a shower," he stated firmly in low tones. "Keep it cool—not too hot or cold. Lukewarm. Try to get your hair washed and some of your body." He stood up, leaving her for a second and brought over the robe hanging on the back of her door. "Put this on when you're done. I'll go find you some clean clothes." He folded the robe neatly on the back of her sink and left, giving her a small smile and he shut the door with a click.

It was all Rebecca could do to get herself off the floor and into the shower stall next to her.

Something told her Donatello would be keeping a listen out if she were to fall.

Donatello heard the shower running after a few minutes and sighed with some relief. At least Rebecca had managed that task. He hadn't said it aloud but she truly looked...well, horrible. Her skin was a sickly pale and her hair looked like it hadn't been washed in days. The excuses made to Leonardo in order to sneak away to check on her weren't easy—Donatello had become increasingly distraught and moody after not hearing from Rebecca for two days. During his time at the farmhouse, there had never been more than a three or four hour gap in-between messages—so, to suddenly have two days go by without so much as a single worded text message was startling.

He didn't dare allow himself to think of the consequences until he arrived at her apartment tonight—the TV blaring and finding her lying on the bathroom floor, not moving rocked him to his core.

_You're lucky Purple Dragons didn't find her_, he thought, immediately shutting off that part of his brain. He wasn't going to worry about the 'what ifs' tonight—that was Leo's job.

His family had returned with Casey to NYC only a few days ago and Donatello had spent most of his time since then going over recorded conversations and emails from the Purple Dragons collected while they were away. It was still difficult to determine what precisely was occurring with the gang but he found himself getting closer and closer to cracking the code which dictated many emails and text messages. The oddest thing about the entire situation were the sudden overseas contacts and names he kept coming across. His computer at the lair was currently undergoing an intense hacking process to enter INTERPOL's database so he could do a search on some of the names. However, their security was stronger than most and it would be several more hours until he would have access to the necessary information.

The TV continued to blare, distracting him from his thoughts and he switched off, slightly annoyed. While he enjoyed TV on occasion, the way Mikey and Raph watched it constantly was a never-ending annoyance for him. He walked over to the wardrobe in front of her bed and opened the door, peering inside. A few drawers were on the bottom and a few dresses and tops hung in the closet part on the top. Hesitatingly, he opened a drawer here or there until he came across a clean pair of yoga pants, and a NYU t-shirt. The underwear part was nerve-wracking but he simply kept reminding himself of the times he and his brothers had helped around the house when April was sick or away on trips. Hell, he'd even helped Casey do her laundry once—surely he could handle this.

An innocent pair of pink boycut briefs found their way into a folded pile of clothes, hidden beneath the shirt and pants so it wasn't abundantly obvious he had rooted through her underwear drawer. After placing the pile of clothes neatly by the door of the bathroom, he realized he hadn't included a bra...more than likely she probably didn't need one and he certainly wasn't going to be going THAT route at this point. Raphael had mentioned once or twice that Casey had let it slip April despised wearing the things when she was around the house...It was sad sometimes when Donatello realized his only experiences with the human female race were limited to April (not counting the various female mutants and aliens over the last few years and Karai).

Stepping into her kitchen, he went through a few cabinets and found a small package of crackers opened and already resting on the table. Clearly, Rebecca had been trying to eat something but it wasn't staying down. He frowned and took a few crackers out, placing them on a plate. Another search through her cabinets revealed a random, unopened box of green tea bags. An older model kettle rested on her stove and he filled it with water, placing it on the stove to boil. While he and Leonardo often competed for the title of 'worst cook' in the family, he could at least boil water for tea—each of his brothers and himself had done it for years for Splinter.

Donatello settled at the small table in the kitchen and glared annoyingly at the cigarettes and ashtray sitting on it. He picked up the Marlboro Lights and tossed them into the trashcan in the corner. Certainly, she wouldn't notice them missing for a few days while she was sick.

The shower clicked off, finally, and he watched the door to the bathroom open and Rebecca stood there, a bit unsteady on her feet. Her robe was wrapped tightly around her body and she leaned against the door frame for support. A long, messy braid of her wet, dirty blonde hair fell forward onto her shoulder and she looked at Donatello.

"Clothes?" She managed meekly, glancing around. He was on his feet in an instant, handing her the pile from the floor. "Thanks," she breathed and she turned back into the bathroom.

While she changed, Donatello went over to the window and closed it, leaving it open just a crack for some fresh air. A quick look at her thermostat told him she did not have the heat on a proper setting and he turned it up, determined to keep her warm and comfortable. He heard her step out from the bathroom again and he hurried over, wrapping an arm around her waist as he guided her to the table.

Rebecca chuckled lightly, shoving at his arms. "I can walk, you know." He placed her at the table just as the kettle whistled. He poured the water into two mugs she had, bringing both over to the table to allow the tea bags to seep.

"You should eat something," he stated, moving his tea bag around in the mug and sat down beside her. "It might help settle your stomach."

"Ugh," she made a disgusted sound and pushed the crackers away. The shower, Donatello noticed, had done a little to make her look better. Her skin was still terribly pale but there was more color in her cheeks and her hair looked shiny and clean. "I've tried eating those today—kept throwing them up."

Donatello sighed and pulled the plate back in front her. "Just one? Please? And drink your tea—I didn't even know you had green tea."

Rebecca wrinkled her nose and held the mug up to her lips, taking a tentative sip. "Friend bought it for me to try to relax. I'm not crazy about the stuff." She swallowed, making a face at the slightly bitter taste. "Yuck—can I add some sugar to this?"

"_No,_" he enunciated, eyeing her. "Sugar would only make you worse. Eat. A. Cracker." The words were forced out through gritted teeth and he held a cracker out in his hand, placing it right in front of her face.

She sighed and took it, nibbling on it and she took another sip of the tea slowly. "Fine...whatever you say 'Dr. Don.'" Rebecca gave him an annoyed gaze but then frowned, biting her lip. "I...you don't have to do this," she said suddenly, looking embarrassed. "I appreciate it and all but you just watched me vomit and then had to pick out my underwear..." She trailed off, a blush dusting her cheeks.

Ah—so she _had _noticed the underwear. Donatello shook his head, setting his tea down on the table. "It's nothing, really. I've seen way worse from my family—believe me."

"I know," she said, staring into her tea and placing half of the eaten cracker back on the plate. "I—you were gone for awhile and I don't expect you to spend your evening with me when you could be...somewhere else. I'm afraid I'll be boring company for you tonight..."

Donatello watched her for a moment and then put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him, surprised at the unexpected contact. He gave her an easy smile. "You're my friend, Becca. You could never be boring company—I promise."

She blinked at him as if shocked by his kindness and then returned his smile. "Thank you, Donny," she responded, warmed by his compassion. His heart skipped a beat at the use of the somewhat childish nickname—it was the first time he recalled hearing her say it. They stayed that way for several moments, smiling at each other until Rebecca launched into a coughing fit.

His hand moved from her shoulder to rub her back. The poor thing sounded like she was going to hack up a lung.

"Sorry," she said, gasping for air and taking a gulp of her tea when she finished. "The coughing is...new."

"Tylenol," he insisted, standing up to fish through her cabinets again. "It would help with that." He rustled around a few more things before plucking a bottle down on the table. "There—take that every few hours."

"Can I ask you a stupid question?" She blurted out, fiddling with the mug in her hands.

Donatello blinked at her and nodded, tilting his head. "Of course—anything."

"I'm a big baby when I'm sick," she started, tracing a finger around the top of her mug. "C—could you stay with me, tonight? Until I fall asleep?" Rebecca's face remained down, staring intently at the mug.

He faltered, startled by such a simple request. She reminded him of Michelangelo—his younger brother never dealt well with being sick or badly injured and someone in the family generally remained by his side, in shifts. It got to be annoying and irritating at times but everyone accepted it as a part of Mikey's personality. It was surprising to Donatello how Rebecca was similar in some ways.

He didn't realize how long it had been until Rebecca spoke again, sighing. "Sorry—dumb request. I mean, you're only a - ."

"Friend," he finished for her, patting her arm. He shot her a small smile and her eyes looked up to meet his. "Of course I'll stay—and I'll be completely non-judgmental about it."

Rebecca grinned, despite her feeling icky, and launched herself into his arms, giving him a tight hug. Donatello tensed, staring at her in disbelief for a few moments but then returned it, his arms holding her close.

"Don't laugh at me," she murmured against the crook of his neck, "but I missed you a lot, you stupid turtle. I hope the friend you visited was worth leaving me." The tone was light and it was meant to be a teasing remark. However, he tensed immediately and his thoughts rushed back to who they had left behind at the farmhouse, buried in the cold ground.

Rebecca felt the subtle change in his body language and leaned back into her chair, searching his eyes. "Don? Is everything okay?"

Donatello let go of her and sighed, taking a swig of the green tea, wishing it was something stronger. He could easily lie now and she would never have to know about April. She could remain locked away in his mind and in the collective memory of his family, never to see the light of day. It would be odd to talk about her with a stranger, someone who didn't understand what April meant to them.

But then she looked at him with such concerned eyes—green, he noticed—and it surprised him. In all the conversations and laughter between them over the last few weeks, he'd never even cared to notice the dark green color of her eyes.

He took a deep breath and felt for her hand, holding it tightly in his own. The feeling of it gave him a concrete feeling of reality—this was not an easy story to tell. Rebecca's other hand brushed up against theirs together, rubbing a thumb over it lightly.

"Don?" she whispered nervously, her eyes darting back and forth.

Donatello took another breath and opened his mouth, his voice cracking slightly. "Let me tell you a story about a friend—a close friend—named April..."

* * *

True to his word, he stayed until she fell asleep later that evening, succumbing to the exhaustion of her illness. She awoke later in the night, drenched in sweat and stared out her window at the twinkling lights of the city.

Don had told her about April, about how she passed and where she was now. He talked about how hard it was for his family to make a connection with her at first and how they had all grown to love her as a sister and a friend. Rebecca had held his hand the entire time and even hugged him tightly when his emotions were too much and he cried, truly cried, on her shoulder.

She blamed it on the flu she had, on the emotions overwhelming her. The story about April was a hard pill to swallow and she could visualize the woman in the picture Donatello had shown her, an odd smile flitting across his mouth. She sounded lovely, she looked lovely and it was clear he had loved her almost, on some level. And Rebecca was sorry about the way she had died—it was tragic, very tragic.

But, deep down, a small fire of jealousy burned and Rebecca couldn't explain it, she couldn't explain it all.

She hated her, this April O'Neil. She was beautiful and wonderful and perfect.

_And everything you're not and could never be._

Rebecca hated her and then hated herself because she didn't understand why.

After all, you couldn't compete with a ghost...could you?


	8. Iris

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **Hey there everyone! Hope your weeks are finding you well—I just started school again this week and I'm SWAMPED. Also...about this chapter...I'm so unhappy with it. I felt like it could be much better and I just...well. I'll let you all be the judges, I suppose. If you continue to read after reading how awful this chapter is, I admire you!

Thank you to _D'Fuentes, tmntfangirl84, DuckiePray, M.D. Owen_ , _Lightan117, IceColdFever, baby-kitsune9 _and _I Love Kittens too _for their reviews and continued support. Oh and _M.D. Owen_-I'm definitely using a song we talked about earlier! You all continue to inspire me. As always, please enjoy and do review if you are so inclined!

* * *

Donatello squinted at the screen, his eyesight going slightly blurry. What was supposed to be a few hours of hacking into INTERPOL's system had turned into a multiday project and once he _finally _had gotten access, pulling up the necessary information proved to be a nightmare.

Cop and detective dramas be damned—this was _not _a simple manner of typing in a few pieces of information and pulling up the desired results. No, there were eons of databases with links to others...part of him wanted to hack into the system further and just clean the entire thing up to make his job easier. It didn't help that every name or search term he put in linked to another's and it was clear it was going to be virtually impossible to find the real names of some of the men. Each one went by three or four different aliases and had dyed their hair or worn facial hair to disguise themselves.

It was going to be a long couple days.

He sighed, swiveling himself away from his desk with a groan and picked up the book that had been sitting beside him, stroking the cover as the ghost of a smile passed over his mouth. Rebecca had gotten over her flu in about a week and a few days ago, she gave him the book as a gift. An early Christmas and a 'thank you' gift, she called it. He was shocked to realize upon opening it she had gotten him a copy of _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea _by Jules Verne. Donatello had mentioned, once, in a previous conversation how he had a copy of the book from his childhood that was lost in previous moves. While Rebecca admitted she was not a huge fan of Jules Verne, it touched him she bothered to remember to get it for him. Perhaps he'd start it tonight.

Noises from the living room alerted to him to his family's presence and he decided it might not be a bad idea to join them—anything to get a break from the database he'd been staring at for hours now. Gingerly, Donatello crept out in the living room, blinking from the lights—he really had to work more on making sure he didn't work in complete darkness all the time. It definitely couldn't be good for his eyes.

Mikey and Raphael were on the couch, eyes glued to the television watching some dumb reality TV show. Leonardo sat in a nearby chair, a book perched in his lap. At first glance, one would have thought he was completely engrossed in it but every now and then his eyes would drift up to watch the show surreptitiously before falling quickly back to his book, almost like he didn't want to be caught. Donatello heard familiar chords floating from Master Splinter's rooms in the back and from noting the time, he determined Splinter was in the midst of his later evening meditation hours.

Raphael, surprisingly, was the first brother to note Donatello's sudden presence in the kitchen and he greeted him with a familiar sly smirk. "Nice of you to join the land of the living, Donny."

Leonardo looked up again from his book, turning his head toward the kitchen. "Any new information on the Purple Dragons?"

Donatello sighed, slightly irritated. He knew Leo only wanted the information so they could move faster but it seemed like every time he took a break from the research, his older brother was hounding him with questions. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a juice, forgoing the coffee for once and shook his head at Leo, opening it.

"No, not yet. INTERPOL's system is a legitimate nightmare to comb through—be lucky I even managed to _get in._" He walked towards the living room and plopped down next to Raphael, taking a swig of the drink and placed the book he carried on the coffee table, dodging any crumbs.

Mikey, as if he were seeing Donatello for the first time, looked over with a bit of indignation, tearing his eyes away from the screen. "Hey! I drink those for breakfast! Who said you could have one?"

Raphael smacked his younger brother on the back of the head. "Shut up, Mikey. It's not like we can't get to the store to buy more."

"Yeah, only if Casey remembers to get the right ones..." Mikey mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "But if Leo would let me do the shopping..."

"Not going to happen, Mike," Leonardo said coolly, closing his book with a snap and setting it on the end table next to him. "You never stick to the basic list _or _the budget."

Donatello quirked his mouth, taking another swig of his juice. A headache was beginning to come on.

"You lack a _creative vision,_" Mikey shot back, wrenching his head around to glare at Leonardo. "I'm the one who does all the cooking now anyway, why the heck should you even have a say in the freaking list?"

"Creative vision? All you do is throw ingredients together and hope for the best!"

"I do not! Our meals take planning and _effort! _All _you_ do is trim the list and tell me to cut back!"

Donatello was now watching the argument with some sort of bizarre amusement. Truth be told, Michelangelo and Leonardo did not fight often but over the years, Michelangelo tended to rebel more, especially since taking more responsibility in the basic domestic tasks. Raphael, per usual, appeared to be ignoring the ensuing fight and took the opportunity to grab the abandoned remote from the couch. Mikey was now off the couch and he flipped the channel to a random football game.

"We have a _budget, _Michelangelo! Money does not grow on trees -!" Leonardo now had his arms crossed and was shaking his head. "Master Splinter appointed me to keep watch over the accounts after I got back!" Donatello agreed with the sentiment but kept his mouth shut. While Leonardo did certainly keep an eye on the bank accounts they had (established in combination with faked social security numbers and April some years ago), Donatello was the one who still helped Leo balance the checkbook every month.

"Oh, just shut up, _Poopnardo!_"Mikey shouted back, standing beside Leo's chair.

Silence fell over the four brothers and Donatello and Raphael both turned their heads to stare at Leonardo and Mikey, a bit shocked at the use of the unique nickname. Leo, for once, was speechless.

"Good one, Mike!" Raphael said after a few moments, suddenly breaking the silence and holding up his hand for a three-fingered high-five. "Ten points for creative use of a nickname—it's time someone called him that to his face."

Mikey gave him the high five, still in shock at his outburst and was watching Leonardo carefully for what he feared might be retribution.

After another minute or two, Leo shook his head and his mouth was in a straight line. "What do you say to...twenty flips tomorrow at practice, Mikey?"

"Aww, Leo, come on...it was just a stupid nickname! I'm sorry! I haven't called you it that much..."

"Yeah, right," Raphael coughed and Mikey elbowed him in the ribs, indicating Raph should stay quiet. Donatello finished his juice and continued to watch, a small smirk crossing his face. He had heard Mikey use the name on occasion—although, the ones Raph tended to use were far more impolite.

"Ten flips tomorrow, then." Leonardo said, picking up his book again, a rare smirk dancing across his features. "And, maybe, next time I can let you go shopping with Casey."

"_See! _ You're never going to let me...wait." Michelangelo paused, hopeful and knelt beside Leonardo in excitement. "Really?! Because I know about these rad farmer's markets nearby, in Central Park - ."

"Maybe," Leonardo stated cautiously, eyeing his little brother. "But, you have to work with me on the budget next time, so you understand. And still, ten flips at training tomorrow."

"Fine," Mikey said, nodding, clearly giddy. "There's some new fruit I've been wanting to get..."

"Ten bucks says he gets bored halfway through the budget lecture and ends up going over anyway," Raphael whispered to Donatello, his eyes still watching the game.

"You're on," Donatello agreed and they shook hands discreetly.

After finishing with Mikey, Leo looked at Donatello again, speaking. "So, you really have nothing else on those men or the Purple Dragons?"

Donatello grumbled and shook his head again, annoyed, "_No_, Leo, for the thousandth time. First of all, half the recovered emails and texts are in some garbled foreign language and on top of _that _I still have to break through this code they're using to hide the merchandise. It's not something that can be done overnight!"

"I know, Donny, I just...on the news this morning - ."

"They found a dead chick on Purple Dragon territory," Raphael broke in, his voice unwavering and full of quiet rage. "They said she'd been raped and roughed up bad."

Donatello paused and shifted his gaze towards Raphael, who was now gripping the remote tightly. "What else are they saying?" Mikey was quiet now too, watching the conversation unfold.

"Prostitute," Raphael growled, clicking the television off. "What else do they ever fucking say when they find a girl trussed up? I think she's got some connection with the so-called merchandise they keep carting back and forth."

"Raph," Leo started, quietly. "We don't know if she's got any connection at all with the Purple Dragons - ."

"I know it, Leo. I just fucking know it, okay? What—you the only one allowed to have instincts and all that shit?"

"I'm not saying that, Raph, I'm just saying we have to be careful about how we approach this..."

"What did she look like?" Donatello swiftly cut into the conversation, his voice cracking.

"Blonde, curvy," Raphael said slowly, turning his head toward Donatello. "Why does that -?"

"I'm going out." Like a slingshot, Donatello was off the couch and out the door of the lair, the disguised brick door closing behind him. His other brothers stared after him, startled at the unexpected exit.

"...That's usually my line," Raphael stated, still staring at the brick door, bewildered.

"Umm...guys? What is up with Donny?" Michelangelo questioned, scratching his head.

"I...I really don't know, Mikey," Leonardo sighed, turning his attention back to his book, dropping the discussion with Raphael. "He really has been acting odd lately..."

* * *

Reason told Donatello it wasn't possible for the blonde woman to be Rebecca. He texted her last night to see how she was faring. She reported back how she was swamped with school work and with Thanksgiving fast approaching, she was trying to get as much done as humanly possible. Their visits had dwindled slightly over the last two weeks but he tried to bring her dinner at every few days after he discovered she didn't cook and lived almost entirely off take-out, pizza and tuna fish. He declared it wasn't healthy for her diet (especially after being sick) and she begrudgingly ate what he brought, always somewhat shocked Donatello had such access to decent food. Mikey had yet to take notice of the dwindling leftovers in the refrigerator, thank goodness. It wasn't even odd he hadn't heard from her today—an email from her in the wee hours of the morning indicated she was hard at work and she mentioned briefly she was hoping to head to the library at NYU for books she needed to complete her various assignments.

None of these thoughts stopped Donatello, however, as he leapt from building to building, jogging across rooftops until reaching the building across from her apartment. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw no lights on in her unit. While it wasn't too late in the evening, Rebecca almost always kept her lights on, working late into the night. Sprinting, he landed on her fire escape and peered into the window, cursing her for a moment for leaving the drapes open. He would definitely have to speak to her about that oversight...

His hand traced over the edge of the window, tugging on it and was not surprised when it was locked. The lights were off and it didn't seem like Rebecca was anywhere to be found—not even asleep on the bed. He immediately began feeling around in his belt for the kit he carried for similar circumstances, determined and frantic to get into her apartment to make sure there was nothing out of place. Just as his hands began jiggling with the lock with his pick, the apartment suddenly flooded with light and Donatello was startled to see Rebecca stumbling in her front door. His eyes widened a bit in shock at her appearance.

A tight, black lace dress with a red satin underlay hugged her curves. A sensible pair of black heels rested on her feet and a matching black wristlet swung from her wrist wildly. Her hair, normally kept up in a messy bun or ponytail, flowed down around her shoulders in a thick mass, the blonde highlights he never noticed before catching the light. The makeup, which she normally wore lightly, if at all, was done heavily to emphasize her large, dark green eyes and black eyelashes.

Donatello felt the pick slip from his hand and clatter on the fire escape, metal scraping against metal. His breath hitched as he watched her, eyes taking in this strange but exciting new sight. This...this was a Rebecca he certainly never saw.

It took a minute for him to realize something was very wrong. Rebecca's face, normally deep in thought or a smile, was pinched. He winced, watching her throw her wristlet against the wall in an uncharacteristic display of anger. The noise didn't seem to satisfy her and one of her shoes followed the same path as the wristlet, making a large crack. Her second shoe was kicked off her foot and she stomped over to the cabinets, bringing down a large bottle of wine. A solo cup was used, as it appeared she didn't have the energy to search for a clean wine glass, and she sat at the table, now engaged in the comforting act of lighting a cigarette, not caring for once about her landlord and the after effects of smoke in the apartment. Donatello's heart constricted when he glanced to her eyes again, hidden as she swiped from them every few moments.

Rebecca...was crying. She was actually crying.

Donatello had two choices. He could leave now and pretend he hadn't seen her and simply call in the morning to check on her—especially since he knew now she was not the blonde, curvy woman found by the police that morning. But, the way she kept wiping her eyes and clutched the cigarette in her hands like a lifeline made him pause. Within seconds, three familiar, soft knocks echoed on the window and she looked up, startled, to see him sitting on the fire escape. It was obvious she hadn't been expecting him.

Rebecca hurried over to the window, throwing up the latch to let him in out of the cold. Her makeup was starting to run because of her tears but she gave him a shaky smile anyway as he stepped into the living room.

"Sorry," she said meekly, wiping hurriedly at her eyes again. "Wasn't expecting to see you tonight—a very pleasant surprise. I would have kept the window unlocked if I knew."

"...I didn't plan on stopping by, actually," Donatello admitted, watching her carefully and keeping his voice low. "You look nice."

She barked a humorless laugh and headed back towards the table in her kitchen, taking another drag from her cigarette and threw herself into the chair. "You don't have to lie to me, Don—I know I look like complete _shit,_" she spat the word out and took a swig of wine from the solo cup. "You know, now might not be a good time to stop by—I'm tired -."

"What happened, Becca?" He whispered, sitting across from her, taking the glass of wine out of her hands. She let him, her head down as she stared intensely at the ashtray on the table, rubbing her cigarette in it absent-mindedly.

"Nothing," she lied, crushing the cigarette in spite of the bit left on it. "Nothing at all."

"Don't lie to me, Rebecca," Donatello pleaded, eyeing her. "You're upset and I know it's not at your purse or your shoes..."

"You saw that, huh?" She was quiet and she looked up, finally meeting his eyes. "The ninja thing gets annoying sometimes—I hope you know that. It's fucking creepy that you can just _watch _me and I won't even know." Her voice came out unintentionally harsh, but some part of it was meant to be joking. She forced a smile on her face after a beat, standing up to go into the kitchen. "Since you're staying, are you hungry or thirsty? I can put some water on for tea - ."

"Becca," he insisted, grabbing her wrist to prevent her from getting away. "What happened? It's obvious you're upset about _something_."

"I'm _not_," she snapped, trying to wrench away from his grasp. A flash of anger appeared in her eyes. "Look, you didn't have to stop by—I am _really_ tired, Don. Maybe you should leave."

Donatello took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This wasn't going to be easy, but he was damned to see this through to the end.

"I'm here, Becca. And I'm not leaving until I know what's wrong." His voice was stronger now but he kept watching her with his dark brown eyes and for a brief moment, Rebecca wished she had the strength to hit him—maybe he would finally leave her alone then.

"Nothing's wrong, okay? Can't I be allowed to have a bad night—like when you pound on your keyboard and cuss under your breath, thinking I can't hear it? Newsflash—_I can._" Her mouth was set in a firm line and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of her ears. Whatever patience she had left was wearing thin.

Donatello only continued to stare at her, never breaking his gaze. His spoke again, emphasizing every word. "Rebecca," he said through gritted teeth, standing up to meet her height. "What. happened?"

"_Nothing,_" she screeched suddenly, finally breaking away from him. She started to pace the width of her apartment, doing everything possible to stay away from him. "I had a date tonight—it didn't work out. Are you _happy _now?"

"...A date?" He questioned, tilting his head at her, surprised. "With _who?_"

"A friend set me up, Donatello. I have those, you know—other _friends_. Except this guy was drunk by the time I got to the restaurant and when I stood up to fucking _leave, _he was telling me how'd never banged a fat chick before but if I paid him twenty bucks, he'd be more than happy to take care of my little _virginity _problem." Rebecca stopped by the wall and without warning, punched her hand into it, making a loud noise. She gave a cry, cradling her fist, but the pain was a welcome relief from the anger and hurt in her mind—at least physical pain was easier to treat.

Donatello was behind her in an instant, hand held out like he was about to grab her shoulder and force her to let him examine her hand but reason told him to stay put. His eyed widened at the story, completely dumbfounded. Someone...someone had actually said that...about Rebecca? She wasn't stick thin—that much was true. But she had curves and she dressed appropriately to her body type. She was cute, pretty even, if not by society's standards.

The silence between them continued, his hand hovering over her shoulder while she faced the wall. She finally spoke again, giving a hollow chuckle. "I put on this uncomfortable dress and did my hair and my fucking makeup and I wore _heels_—I _hate _heels and I went...I went on this date thinking maybe, just maybe, I could get him to like me. Stupid, right? Girls like me...well, there aren't any princes anymore. Only frogs."

_Or turtles, _he thought to himself, studying her back. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"The restaurant had dancing," she whispered, sighing. "Pretty, classical music. I read about it online before I went—I thought he might ask me to dance." Rebecca trailed off, turning to face him and wiped at her eyes, giving him a watery smile and meeting his eyes. "I'll get over it...I always do. Still hurts. But, I'm a big girl—you don't have to stay. Come back tomorrow and I promise 'normal' Rebecca will be here."

Donatello moved his hand from where it had been hovering. There was an intense look in his eyes as he watched her and by its own accord, his thumb wiped a tear off her cheek. It stayed there for a moment, stroking, and as fast as it happened, he pulled his hand back and left it to dangle at his side.

"He's a real idiot," he murmured, never breaking his gaze. Some part of him wished there was more to say but it was difficult to right someone else's wrongs. "He'll regret it later, when he's engaged in the horizontal tango with someone else who gives him a STD and he could've spent the evening with you, just talking."

Rebecca snorted, a genuine smile dancing around her mouth. She couldn't say it aloud but she still felt on her cheek where he had touched her. It felt cold to the touch but burned at the same time—she ignored it. Something was so desperately right about that small touch and...no.

_Not now, not ever, Rebecca. _

"Don, I'm sure banging her is far more fascinating than listening to me drone on about Jane Austen and dead nineteenth century writers -," she started, rubbing her arm.

"Never," he interjected, shaking his head. "_Never." _

Another long pause passed between them and finally, Rebecca was the first to look away and she moved to the couch, plucking her laptop from the coffee table and opened it, grateful for the distraction. "...I've got some work to do—maybe we can continue this analysis of why Rebecca is unable to keep a date interested sometime tomorrow?" Her tone was light but the meaning was clear—it was time to drop this conversation. It was moving in a path Rebecca did not want to venture down.

On the other hand, Donatello was intrigued. This...this was different. Just how far could he take it...?

In a flash, he grabbed the laptop out her hands and began clicking around on it furiously.

"Hey!" she cried, moving to grab for it but he was quicker and held it out of her grasp, concentrating. "What do you think you're doing—I had a paper pulled up -!"

"Shush," he admonished, putting it back down on the coffee table. A tune familiar to Rebecca floated out from the tiny speakers and she blinked, confused about what, precisely, Donatello was trying to accomplish here.

The song, she guessed after a moment, was a personal favorite of hers. Funny, she didn't remember ever listening to it when he was present.

"_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's meant to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am_

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
Or the moment of truth in your lies  
When everything feels like the movies  
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive..."

She concentrated hard on the lyrics, perplexed. "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls—a classic song, for certain. But, why, of all the songs -?

"You're missing the point, Becca. And wasting the song."

Her gaze shifted to Donatello, who held out a mutant hand to her, making a gesture for her to come closer. She lowered her eyes at him and stepped closer. He gave a dramatic sigh and grasped her hand wish his own, pulling her towards him. Rebecca practically fell against his plastron but he steadied her easily, positioning her in his arms. He guided her arms around his neck and gingerly held her hips.

Rebecca quirked an eye at him and he smiled sheepishly as he started to sway awkwardly back and forth to the song, not on time at all to the music. They stumbled around for a few minutes, trying to get their bearings and she wasn't certain what direction he was trying to lead her in.

"...I thought...this was a stupid idea, wasn't it? The dancing?" Donatello asked her, blushing, as he led them in a slow, odd circle. His large feet hit hers a few times and she stepped back, creating more distance between their bodies.

She laughed softly and followed his lead, smirking. "To be honest, it's like I'm back at a middle school dance."

"...We can stop," he began, pulling away from her. Rebecca tightened her arms around his neck, preventing him from stepping away easily.

"Aw, no you don't, you big turtle," she grinned up at him, trapping him. "You got yourself into this mess and I'm not letting you back out."

"Fine," he grumbled, holding onto her waist again.

They continued to move and as the song ended, it began again a moment later, obviously on repeat. She watched his eyes and noticed he was looking everywhere but her, obviously embarrassed.

"Hey," Rebecca professed, tapping the back of his head to get his attention. His eyes shifted to hers again and she beamed at him, happy. "Thank you—you...you really didn't have to do this. She paused, shaking her head to laugh. "You have now officially seen every crazy side of Rebecca—feel free to step away at any time."

He looked surprised and chuckled, tugging on her hips lightly to bring her closer. "It's really my pleasure. I'm—well, I'm glad." Donatello nodded then, satisfied with what he had to say. Words hung in the air between them, the silence speaking for them both.

In a mimic of his touch to her earlier, Rebecca caressed his cheek lightly, pondering something. They stared for a few moments longer until she leaned forward, turning her head to rest it against his shoulder. He tensed but relaxed, wrapping his arms around her body again, in a prolonged hug. They swayed unsteadily like for awhile, the song playing continuously.

When he left later that evening, satisfied she was better, his hand rubbed the spot where she had touched his face softly.

He could still feel her there, light as it was.

* * *

Donatello arrived home a few hours later, determined to get some rest and begin his search anew with INTERPOL's database the next morning. The dead woman certainly added to his stress that whatever the Purple Dragons were up to needed to come to an end before anyone else ended up murdered.

He was surprised to see a light on the living room and was even more surprised when the light revealed Leonardo, still seated in his lounge chair right where he left him. Leo appeared to be engrossed in his book and he gave Donatello a nod as he walked past him, heading to his bedroom.

"Donny?" Leonardo asked, not even glancing up from the page as Donatello neared the hallway. "Do you mind if I ask you a quick question before you go to bed?"

He sighed, turning to face his brother. "Sure, Leo, but I still need to work on getting that information—I should have something more concrete tomorrow."

"No, it's not that," Leo said casually, flipping a page. "You know the book I was reading when you flew out of here earlier?" He continued, not waiting for a response. "Well, I finished it and picked up a book you left on the table earlier, _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea _by Jules Verne?"

"...I must have," Donatello was perplexed—why was Leo being so odd about a book? "I found a copy a few days ago and have been meaning to read it."

Leonardo nodded, his eyes darting over the page. "I remember when we lost it when we were younger—you cried to Master Splinter for a week. Anyway, I saw it and remembered it and wanted to reread it. But, would you know it? This piece of paper fell out when I opened the pages..." He held up a neatly folded piece of paper and Donatello's blood ran cold, staring at it. His older brother continued in a casual tone of voice but Donatello could tell there was more to this than Leo was leading on.

"I read it, thinking the note might have been left by a previous owner—I'm sure you can understand. So, I was a little surprised when the writer addressed you by name and thanked you for being and I quote 'an awesome turtle doctor and great friend.' _She _also signed it 'your newest human friend, Rebecca.'" Leonardo was turned around in the chair now, a very serious look on his face. All Donatello could do was stare back, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

His secret was out—there was no escape from this now.


	9. Dinner Plans

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman, various publishers including but not limited to Image and Mirage Comics, Paramount Pictures, 4kids and Nickelodeon. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Only thing I own is Rebecca Maitland.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the long wait, guys! As stated before, I'm working on my MA thesis and I also TA for my history program, so school takes up a ton of my time. But, I appreciate it if you've stuck with the story this long and continue to do so. Here's to hoping it doesn't take me as long for the next chapter!

Thank you to _IceColdFever, Lightan117, D'Fuentes, DuckiePray, I Love Kittens Too, pandasize, musichik, Sasami1, Trunksiyma, Piratecheif _and_FoxXxXx_for your reviews! And, as always, if you are inclined, please feel free to review!

* * *

"_And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand_..." Rebecca growled at the random shuffle of her iTunes and clicked angrily, sighing when it switched to a Nightwish song full of loud chords and screaming lyrics. She wasn't in a position to hear _that _song at the moment. She brought the Word document back up and began typing furiously again, throwing the cigarette into the ashtray beside her.

It was the week of Thanksgiving and while most of her friends would be going away to visit their families, she'd decided to forgo her own visit so she could stay home and get more work done. Her illness had put her behind a bit more than she liked and every spare moment she had was spent perfecting a paper or an argument. Over the last forty-eight hours, she'd had maybe about ten or so hours of sleep, intermittently choosing to nap and going through bouts of productivity and procrastination.

Ah, the life of a graduate student.

After typing about a page, engulfed in her thoughts, she glanced to her phone again, clicking it to show the screen and gave a strangled sound of frustration.

Nothing.

It had been three days since she'd last heard from Don.

Three.

Whole.

Days.

She'd tried texting him, had even tried calling him several times and each attempt to reach him resulted in a voicemail and every text to him came back unanswered. While she certainly didn't need his presence or communication as a distraction, she liked to bounce ideas off of him. He had this particular way of quirking his mouth when he went to answer her and, as a way of allowing her eyes to readjust way from the backlight of her laptop, she'd taken to watching him work and he would stick his tongue out a certain—

She stopped typing again and stared at the screen. This was not good. This...this was not good at all, really. Ever since the night with the dance and the music and the look on his face...

Rebecca sighed and clicked to minimize her document. On her desktop, she double clicked and brought up another document, curiously entitled 'Ideas.' When she first made the document a few days ago, she decided to come with a rather inconspicuous title for it. Donatello didn't make it a regular habit to comb through her computer but there'd been a time or two the system acted oddly and he looked at it. She thought she might resist any temptation he might have to snoop with a boring title.

The document opened with the title "Pros and Cons of Don" scrawled across the top in large type font and what followed below was just as the title suggested.

The awkward dancing that occurred a few nights previous had awakened something Rebecca she couldn't quite get past. She often spent time complaining to her friends how there were no good men and that all of them were scum and douches. The truth was, that wasn't quite true...some just happened to be green. And mutant turtles.

That was the part Rebecca couldn't get past, though. Don was everything to her intelligent-wise she'd looked for in a guy, even if he was more into the sciences. They could hold conversations about her work and his for hours, even if she didn't always understand his at times. He grasped concepts she mentioned within seconds when she'd spent twenty minutes on dates trying to get them to understand the argument for her papers. He was everything she could ever want but—

He was green. And a mutant turtle. Two really big, glaring problems that took up the largest majority of the 'con' side of the document. It was hard for Rebecca to admit—she thought he was cute and could be so sweet but...he wasn't human. There was no way around admitting that—he wasn't human. And while she never considered herself vain or into looks, it bothered her on some level that he wasn't. They would never be able to be seen in public together, he could never meet her family...

She typed into the document on the 'con' side.

_Could risk government experimentation_

However, within a few minutes, she added more to the pro side without even really thinking about it.

_Listens_

_Wants to actually make you feel better_

_Makes you laugh_

Rebecca bit her lip, studying the list intently. To be honest, the pro side was much longer than the con side. But the items listed on the con side were important and she suddenly thought of another to add to the con list that summed everything up neatly.

_No idea if he could return these affections anyway._

It was blaringly true—he didn't need to know she had these types of thoughts anyway and he could very much reject her just as much as might actually reject him. It was so complicated. The friendship line was becoming more blurry by the day and she was struggling against reasons why she couldn't at least talk to him about it—

A firm knock on her window startled her and her head bounced up, to look at the window. A familiar shape there stared at her serious, a purple bandana covering his eyes.

It was Don.

* * *

"My family wants you to come for dinner."

Donatello stood in front of the window that Rebecca had opened for him a few moments ago, his head bowed down. She stared at him, utterly perplexed, her eyes blinking at him behind her glasses. Shaking her head, she took a seat on the bed, confused beyond measure. She hadn't heard from him in three days and now...this?

"I'm sorry...you said _what?_"

"My family, Becca-," he gingerly moved from in front of the window and sat down next to her, quietly and moved her head so he was looking into her eyes. "They want to meet you. In an hour." He didn't add that Leonardo had demanded and that Splinter had very _strongly _urged the issue.

She blinked at him again slowly, comprehension dawning on her face. This was...this was a big deal.

"But, Don-," she looked frantic, gesturing to herself and her clothes. "I haven't even showered today and my hair is a mess." Per usual for a day of work and reflecting the middle of semester mayhem, Rebecca was still dressed in her t-shirt and boxers she'd worn to bed the night before. She'd never even bothering to change at any course during the day, despite the fact that it was closing to five in the evening.

He sighed, shaking his head. "You probably should get ready, then. You're going to need all the time you can get. I'll meet you in the alley across the street in an hour."

She stared at him, irritated and growing slightly angry. "You know, I haven't heard from you in three days and you come in here and drop this bomb—I think it's _hardly _fair. Do I even get an option in this?"

"No," Donatello answered, standing up. "I've hid enough secrets and told enough half-truths. It's time to come clean. Tonight." He sighed and turned to watch her. "It'll be okay, I promise...we're having sushi. You like that, right?"

Rebecca was in shock. "Wait. You lied to your family?! They never even knew about me? How—I mean, I don't-,".

Donatello stood firm, watching her. "We don't make a lot of contact with the outside, Becca—I thought it was fairly obvious." A note of sarcasm entered his voice but he grew serious again, taking a deep breath. "My family's protection is important and rather than just disappearing on you, we—I thought this might be for the best. Meeting them will help explain me—and them—better."

The thought scared her. Over the last three days, he'd almost considered ending their friendship, to protect his family? Panic immediately filled her mind—though Don had only been in her life for two months at most, she couldn't imagine him not being in it. Perhaps she could suck it up and do this for him, especially if it meant keeping their somewhat odd friendship intact.

"...Fine," she said, after a moment, looking at him again. "But you owe me for this." Rebecca stood, eyeing him and then punched him roughly on the arm.

"Ouch!" He cried, wincing and grabbing where she hit him. "That hurt!"

"Serves you right, you big jerk! Just talk to me next time, okay?! I thought you were dead or mad or...something," she managed, crossing her arms and looking to the side.

"...I'm sorry," Donatello said, after a moment, biting his tongue.. "It was rough, once everyone found out." He didn't mention the teasing from Raph and Mikey and the glares Leo shot him at every opportunity.

It was going to be an interesting evening.

He stopped rubbing his arm and came to stand in front of her, searching her eyes. "I...I am sorry it had to happen like this. But, it'll be better after this—you'll see. Now, shoo," he made the motion with his hand. "Go do what girls do to get ready. I'll be waiting."

"Fine," she stated, turning to her closet to stare inside. "I reserve the right to be pissed at you for awhile, though."

"Understandably," he said and then he gave her a swift but awkward hug from behind before ducking out the window and disappearing into the settling dusk. Rebecca clicked her tongue in annoyance and continued to stare in her closet in confusion.

_What the fuck am I supposed to wear to dinner with a family of mutants anyway?_

* * *

Donatello stood in the darkness of the alley, doing a few katas silently to keep warm. He'd stupidly forgotten to bring his coat in the chaos of the lair over the joint decision of inviting Rebecca to dinner.

After Leo cornered him the night he left for Rebecca's, everything had come out at once. Leo was angry and disappointed, that much was certain. He was even more irritated when he found out Mikey knew the entire time and that Raph even had an inkling of his own that something was going on. The morning that followed, during practice, Donatello had approached Splinter for a private audience in which he explained the circumstances surrounding the sudden but odd friendship he had developed with Rebecca. Splinter was slightly disappointed in his son but also comforted him on some level, saying he understood Donatello's loneliness and desire for a friend outside of their normal circle. However, he'd made clear that such secrets were to never be kept again.

The fifty back flips Splinter had also tacked on as a 'reminder of his actions' certainly didn't hurt things either.

The family then over the last few days tried to decide collectively how to tackle the issue of Rebecca, considering the increased presence of the Dragons over the last few weeks. Leonardo was adamant at first about avoiding her and possibly never seeing her again but Donatello wouldn't hear of it. Rebecca over the last few months had become more than just a casual acquaintance—she was quickly becoming his best friend. And then there was the most recent incident of dancing in her apartment...

He gulped, the image of Rebecca dressed as she was that night coming into his mind. It was hard to admit, even to himself, but he was attracted to her...and the attraction was not anywhere close to decreasing in his mind. Every time he replayed a conversation or envisioned her laugh, his throat tightened just a bit and he could never get enough of her eyes—such pretty green eyes and her hair was this different color than he'd seen before—

_Get a grip, Donnie, _he thought to himself, suddenly. _Besides, she would definitely never be interested._

And to be honest, he couldn't blame her. He knew some humans were into odd things—bestiality, it was called. But Rebecca didn't strike him as that type of girl. Though she was intelligent and bright, she was also very normal and...human. Friends were all they could ever really be—not adding in the danger of seeing someone who was a ninja and had more enemies than the U.S. government...

That was another factor he didn't want to face, too—the danger. How many times had his family's friendship with April and even Casey put them in the face of danger? On many levels, he realized, he had been incredibly selfish in his pursuit of a friendship with Rebecca. Their very association could bring her into danger. He remembered the night he had rushed to her apartment when she was sick and thought, finally, the Purple Dragons had detected their relationship and he would never have been able to live with himself if...if-

Things were simpler this way, he decided abruptly. While it hurt to watch her sometimes and know he could never have her, he could adjust, he could remain quiet. And it would suck but he could get used to it because he would still be there...even as a friend.

He sighed, shaking his head to rid himself of the deep thoughts. No sense in dwelling over it because would never admit it out loud anyway. He watched the window to her apartment, noting some shadows of movement. Hopefully, she would be ready soon.

* * *

An hour had passed and Rebecca made her way across the street to the alley, holding a bottle of champagne she'd managed to dig up in the clutter of her apartment. She was dressed comfortably in a pair of jeans and ballet flats, a blue scooped sweater completing the ensemble with her windbreaker thrown on top. While it certainly wasn't your typical invitation to dinner, she would be damned if she showed up empty handed. She looked around the alley, trying to catch sight of Donatello's shadow.

"Don?" She whispered into the darkness. "I'm here..."

Rebecca jumped when a hand touched her shoulder and she whirled around coming face to face with a familiar turtle.

"Sorry," he said, raising his eyeridges at her appearance. "You clean up quickly." He noted the bottle of champagne in her hands. "Nice touch—I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"I hope so," she responded, putting the bottle away in her large bag. "Now! Am I driving there or what...?" She held up her car keys to indicate she was willing to also transport Donatello as well.

He looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his head, trying to determine the best way to explain this. "Actually, we're going to walk," he answered, pulling out a black blindfold and showing the object to her.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at him again, irritated. "Don. Are we really that paranoid? I'm not going to give away the location! I wouldn't even know who to tell!"

"Doesn't matter," he shook his head, and threw the blind fold over her eyes, tying a quick and tight knot on the back of her head. "Leader's orders—we can't afford to not take every precaution necessary."

She growled at him from under the blind fold. "I swear if I didn't know you better, Donatello, I'd think you were trying something kinky with me."

He laughed at her, despite her obvious annoyance and lifted up the manhole in the middle of the alley. "You can trust me on that front, at least," he said, smirking even though she couldn't see it.

After removing the entrance to the sewer, Donatello knelt in front of her again, taking her hands and guiding them around his neck. "Come on—I'm going to carry you. Makes it easier." _And you avoid stepping on anything gross in those nice shoes, _he thought.

Carefully, as best as she could blindfolded, she attempted to wrap her legs around Donatello's large shell, letting out a small shriek as he stood up, clutching the area under her knees to his shell. She held onto his neck for dear life but he didn't seem to mind.

"I'm surprised you can carry all my weight," she said, joking lightly, despite the odd circumstances.

He began the descent into the sewers and he laughed at her. "Becca, you have no idea how much I can actually lift up."

"True," she said and she heard her voice echo in the large tunnel around them as Donatello leapt to the bottom and began sprinting through the tunnels. Rebecca moved her head around, trying to see if she could remove the blindfold so she could see her surrounding but it wouldn't budge—Don made certain it wouldn't move at all.

"Are we in the sewer?" She asked, incredulous, after a few minutes had passed and she heard the sound of water running in the distance.

"...Yeah," Donatello finally said. "It's going to be a little while—the rooftops are quicker and there's a closer tunnel to connect to the larger one but I chose the one easiest for you to get to.'

"Do you live in a sewer...?"

He snorted, readjusting her on his shell. "Sort of—we've made it pretty inhabitable. You won't be able to tell."

"So, those stories they always told about the mutant alligators are true?" She still sounded surprised. Although, when she really thought about it, she supposed they couldn't necessarily live in a nice brownstone in Brooklyn.

"More than you know," he stated cryptically, slowing down slightly. "Sorry—more water here than I thought. Hold on tight—I don't want you get your outfit wet."

"Okay," she answered, tightening her grip on his neck, lifting up a bit. His arms situated her higher and she winced, feeling his fingers get a bit closer to her bottom than was comfortable. Clearly, this evening was off to a great beginning...

"Tell me about your family," she said suddenly, as Donatello was concentrating on making sure he got to the driest parts of the tunnel. He paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer.

"They're mutants, like me," he replied, flatly.

"Turtles?"

"Most of us. My father is actually a-,." A familiar squeaking sounded in the distance in a drier tunnel to the left and within seconds, Rebecca was cutting off Donatello's air wave as her arms tightened even more around his neck and she scrambled up the back of his shell.

"_Shit,_" she shrieked, clinging on for dear life. "Is that a rat? I _hate _rats..."

"Yeah, Becca, about that..."

She had no idea about what she was getting into.


End file.
